Love is an Act of Strength

caring is courageous
love is an act of strength
only the endurance of commitment
can determine its length

your heart is a muscle
and so benefits from exercise
when left dormant upon the shelf
something inside slowly dies

yet, random reception of overtures
begets deception
        misadventures
and   their attendant pain

among emotional barbarians —
          those of savage disposition
at large, or one to one
their caustic nature is but a part
of these rapacious vandals of the heart

though, if love you would share
if, in fact, you need to care
you must bare your soul —
                                      courageously
facing the foibles of feeble minds
or                        those that think with their behinds
and thereby, you persevere
for love is an act of strength

emotions take not kindly to the cage
what you suppress
becomes difficult to express
as habits become frozen with age

but, by accepting our emotional energy
its nature, cycle and flow
we may harness
and      apply its strength —

constructively for ascendance and exaltation
or destructively for vengeance and degradation

sharing is not selflessness
nor opening without extension
sharing is an active endeavor
              self-motivated
requiring no lever, ever
and anon

giving is more than opening the door
or                         revealing what lies within
true giving requires an extension of self
without exchange for something else —
the dropping of defenses
the opening of the senses
is a most vulnerable condition

commitment’s honor and loving trust
as opposed to random wanton lust —
the courage to care
the strength to love
these are the things I’m speaking of

the efforts are great
the trials severe
yet, if we are to persevere
Love must be an act of strength

by

jamal
ali

© 1984

magic

running rhymes against rhythms
in pointed percussion
dagger words digging dream graves —
a requiem discussion
wreckin’ through sonic concussion

ya hear the buzzin’?
that ain’t no hum
it’s the ricochet racket
of that electron gun
it’s commercial vomit
spilling across your screen
masqueradin’ as burgers ’n fries —
another pack of lies
suckin’ up your green

St. George funked truth in the line:
“Mind your wants
cuz somebody wants your mind…”
smugglin’ wisdom —
leather laced slick in the groove
and you wuz moved
but didn’t know why…

the hip hop drops
sound bites
hungry for the rush
rising
a wave
grinding
finding you’re still a slave
to ego
to what ya don’t know
to what they said you’re supposed to be —

don’t ya know,
it ain’t for you
it ain’t barrio
it’s “bar you”
no queremos mas Negros
                        la gente indigena
                        morena o roja —
                        la raza
from PR to Molokai
       Baja to Oglala
it’s rising,
up
uprising —
reservation, plantation
ghetto, barrio
islands stolen without a gun,
folks permanently on the run,
herds of shopping cart covered wagons
locked down
run around
plantin’ us in the ground,
prayin’ there ain’t no harvest…

so the search is on,
the future’s pawned for some magic now —
a spell to quell the fire
a charm to douse the flame,
they’re searching everywhere,
                       even across the sea
cuz they know
magic beats technology…
..and who owns the magic?
        where is it found?
it’s not under ice
it ain’t under ground
the magic is one,
found in the lands of the sun

they thought you forgot,
       thought they had won,
but you’ve got rhythms wrigglin’ in your bones,
                    dreams dancin’ to ancient tones
they know of your power
that’s why they study it so much
and now, when you need it most
you can feel your ancestors’ clutch
— this ain’t no ghost!
but the whispers of grandfathers
      the embrace of grandmothers
alive
in our DNA
today
they are the call
we, the response
     the calling
     the magic
rising within
and so it begins
rising in each of us,
            each of us
                           — magic
to heal the tragic

rising
a voice
strangled
still mangled
but undenied…

..and just when they thought we shoulda died
we heard a roar
echoing concrete canyons
and Jericho trembled
      Jericho shook
cuz even they remembered the book,
&                knew the revelation
was their exposure,
their glory
our treasure,
our resurrection
their demise…
..and the horror in their eyes
is their own reflection

the magic can’t be stolen
only forgotten
it’s not hidden,
but stored,
and presently ignored…

..learn you
learn us
dismissal of our true identity
remains our greatest travesty
& it ain’t never gonna be on tv

learn you
learn us
learn the magic
sing those lyrics
rap those rhymes
cuz it’s way past time
and you can’t use what you don’t understand

by

jamal
ali

© 4 february 2000

Zenobia — Dance of Wind

starts at the end
ends with a sigh
ever the child —
wondrous & free
dancer extraordinaré
physical symphony
with allure as accidental aura
you
a dark vanilla mystery
even to your father…
but mother’s prize
a living memory of magic
once caught betwixt her thighs…..

fluid and soft as tropical rain
&                             the sweat your dance inspires
Zenobia, little wonder
many small men risked all to possess you
                                                   dreaming of owning the wind —
they saw you as a mare to ride through the night
ill-equipped to grasp the fantasy
less so for the real
bodies bankrupt in their zeal

to hoofbeat drums
they marched you through the night
— swept across the sea in pirate’s flight
trembling,
now afraid to touch,
the winsome prize once coveted so much
having forgotten
one must be equal to your dream…

paternal pride & anguish
spurred me to your side
I had never seen you,
but once I smelled your fragrant silks
clutched tenderly in my fist
I never doubted I would know you
in a cave on a moonless night
— I had no need of sight

across sand or sea or sea of sand
the aura of my mission heralded my arrival
preceded by tales of battles won
opposition as veils melting in the sun
or                                withering in the night
incarnate Will was I
                             am I
bound to end your plight

when I entered their camp,
I caught your scent — so nice
above the grit of sand
                   clamor of dung
                   riot of curry, ferment & spice

the delicate chime of your ankle bells
&                                                bangled gold-filled ears
were thunderous whispers above the cacophony
and the sweat-stench of their fears
I simply followed the sound of passionate swoons
&                               the rippling wave of terror
expanding in a wake before me

found
my eyes told you you were free to go
& your gratitude melted into love

our romance blossomed during our journey
growing from flower to sacred bush
a girl, you were stolen from your family
but a woman returned now for them to see

once within your father’s sight
                       the light of his smiling eyes
your whimsical pattern of departure returned

dismissing claims of home
&                                    longing hearts,
you mounted my steed behind me
choosing my path to take
we vanished into night
cries of your name lost in our rushing wake

by

jamal
ali

© 4 november 1992