Monthly Archives: November 2011

~He Moves Like Music~

I see him move like music,
his beating heart like drums,
his body like an orchestra,
an orchestration of magic and man.
like soft music that teases ,
then fast music that electrifies!
man, he moves like hes walking on hot coal
and loving it.
I’ve seen him move like heat,
Flames bursting igniting una pasión.
Like love.
He dances with his soul,
rushing from its muscular hold.
beautiful movements, quick, rapido!
And my world is born watching a man with a dream.
I see him move like the sound of thunder,
with power,
and thrill
it jolts you unaware,
bringing you alive!
His movements!
Steps spontaneously right,
straight from the depths of his being.
He dances with his soul.
Dark eyes closed and  mind at ease,
its all in the movement,
its all in the tango between dancefloor, man and  heart,
wrestling all that can break a man.
I’ve seen him dance arms locked with his spirit,
Hes seen a life crawl under its self ,
Death swarming  like air,
Pain constant like promise.
Hes felt the dancefloor beneath his tired feet shake !
And heard the sweat from his pores hit the floor like stones
But he dances still with his soul
enlightened and free and swaying.

By Upile Chisala 11/30/2011.

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To Be A woman with Hurt

The upsetting,
a building, growing,
surviving hard mass
swelling inside me
like a burden attached to
the depths of me.
New life that feels me and
I it.
With Auburn hair and jungle-green
Young body aged with silence
held down by the beating mass within
it, the pulsing reminence of God’s betrayal.
late nights cornered and unraveled.
The deception of love.
Weakened by strong hands against
a small mouth,
and without consent
my thighs,
brown chocolate
ripped open
like curtains drawn to the show.
Cries disappear into the darkness
like they were never sounded by my soul,
by my bruised lips
chapped and shattered by unwelcome
I am a woman
I am not ”my” woman
Those cold nights stole it all
and took it out into the open
and I never again  to be my own or the earth’s
or the sky’s when its blue
Became his.
His to tear open and watch.
His to rattle like a baby’s toy and
break like a castle of sand
made for the pleasure of its fall.
Now I pass from the possession of big hands
to tiny infant ones and my body
never to belong to me, unconsensually taken.
I lay awake imprisoned by pain
Decisions made in my place
marked absent from my own being
I am not my own.
by Upile Chisala 11/28/2011

~Dedicated to all those women who know hurt, suffering and devastation. There is a light.~


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~ I Dreamt about Noah~

You may find this crazy,
but I dreamt about Noah
Say!, don’t dreams mean a thing or two?
Like palm-reading or looking into a crystal ball,
Telling destinies from a deck of cards
Say!, don’t dreams mean a darn thing, a good thing
, a true thing?
So I’m telling you that I dreamt about Noah
calling me Mommy, walking out, holding my hand
like he lived. like he existed already.
His smile was mine and our laughs alike
A compatible pair.
I loved him powerfully.
My world had shrank, it was  but
this little boy, this little life.
I dreamt about Noah.

By Upile Chisala.

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..Portable Happiness..

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I’m teaching myself that little things matter. That I can acquire happiness from simplicity as much as or even more than from big things. I was at the Ren Fair a weekend ago and I took a few pictures. There were so many beautiful things, I was taken aback by the creativity and pure utter artistic genius of some individuals. It made me think, if they can create beauty from ruins then I can create my very own happiness wherever I go. So here is to Portable  Happiness! Enjoy the pictures!!

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