How many storms will rise today?
As I gaze in your eyes today.
Time does not pass but now you’re here,
How quickly our time flies today.
Just turn your look away from him,
And see how someone dies today.
You’ll see him in the shining stars,
Just look up at the skies today.
He cannot drive away your thoughts,
No matter how he tries today.
I wanted a drop; you sent me the sea,
I asked for a leaf, you gave me the tree.
I asked for some hope, you sent me a dream,
To bathe in your love, you sent me a stream.
I asked for a rose, you showed me your smile,
I took a small step, you moved back a mile.
I asked for a tear, you sent me the rain,
I wanted to write, you sent me the pain
You perfumed my life and now the world knows,
My heart is a garden, my love is a rose.
The leaves of my memory will fall at your feet,
No matter which way the autumn wind blows.
A piece of dried wood, is what I am now,
I’ll drift in your sea wherever it flows.
With you by my side, my courage is such,
I’ll face with a smile all storms that life throws.
The seed of your love, now blooms in my heart
That love is a tree, how quickly it grows.
So many huge trees, were lining your path,
I thank you sweetheart, my love that you chose
I’m trapped in myself,
And there’s no way out.
For no one listens,
Even though I shout.
I have lost the path,
I can’t find the light.
I search for the day,
In an endless night.
Trapped in my body,
And trapped in my mind,
I search for myself,
But I cannot find.
I’m in a prison,
I don’t want to be,
Would someone come here
And then set me free.
It is in France, 1931, when a cartoonist Alvert Dubout published a satirical image of a furious-looking ‘savage’ black man scowling at the viewers. Dubout catapults his sense of biting humor at everyone but most particularly- in the era of freak shows and human zoos- the wrath of his wit is centered on those who stand inside cages instead of the awestruck white viewer outside the bars.
Dubout- just like the his other contemporary peers- I’m certain, would insist that the satire had a context and a thoughtful message for civil society to ruminate over, and that his art was not racially-motivated malice at all but “fearless criticism and observation” of an equal “everyone.” Dubout and his modern-day companions forget that “everyone” does not include the Other.
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