Author: Ali Jamal

Forever searching for the one: teacher, question, ether, lover, song, soul-mate, vibe...answer

Strangers

Posted on by Ali Jamal

Strangers happening, why do we find ourselves dangling haplessly, not in control of our lives.
Intersect minds, revolution in front of the farce of the fitness and jurors and witness, we despise.
Bring down the light of truth and freedom.  We, ring in the night and enter the kingdom,
when love and potion and distance and motion and knowledge of self, gains momentum …at last we will rise!
Strangers….  
Finally forcing the shackles to break, to bend and to mend, to reach out and remake (from the lies.)  
Here we go – one, two… pressing the ego to lay down the cloak and create the new dream in our eyes.

everyone searching for love, 
looking for blessings from high up above,   
we... lounge and frown, complain, restrain, 
we... break, remain, 
relinquish redemption for pleasure's exemption then die...   
...because we don't rise, we cry, we lie,   
to ourselves, denying the truth of the real, 
get loose and reveal our weakness to the world.  

We wear the Scarlet letters on chest and back and breast, in fact…
We act like we good, move back in the hood, we learn to let go, when we focus and flow,
The time comes to realize that our lies have crossed the skies and placed us in dungeons of destruction.  
Infiltrated with dirty deeds when we should have been finding mates and planting seeds.
Future flying by, writing, just passing time. Production eludes, counselor concludes, that we need to lift up the burdens and blame, we lost the first game, but have chances to advance when we work the plan, travel the land and make the best of our tainted memory.  

Strangers we call it cause love came too quick, friends look like dicks and curves deceived our minds, made us devils in flight, and third eyes went blind. And so consciousness conquers when virtue takes hold.  The slips and stumbles be damned, and be bold.  Mask coming off, and replaced it with gold.  As strangers, we embrace, the desire, to be cold. 







			

			
				

	

	






			

			
							
		

	
	

		
Badoula
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		




Delightful Read with a Soundtrack…




erykah-badu-essence-warwick-saint1


 


Dangerous Queen…


Making music, mistakes, and babies.


Listening, learning, reading, writing.


Exciting every brotha in her gaze, dumbfounded and twisted in her maze.


She is fire and desire, burning the souls of cash money makers and rhyme slayers alike. Intellectuals and sell-outs.


They all love this culture crooner, exemplifying the kuumba.


Frightening love maker, ’cause her sexuality penetrates the minds of many.


She be selective with the penetrators.


Only the way true Queen get down.


Not pointless pumping from clowns, only cultivators who plant the seed deep.


Deep into womb, exposing orange moons, the doula dances to her own rhythm.


 


Influencing the protégés, they are in need of courage and spirit and voice.


Still crushing critics with creativity.


Falling off the radar, then blasting the charts, hearts and souls of her love affair fans. This danger queen be bombing, sounding the alarm when the masses get caught up.


She spinning webs like cameras on celebs, coating and cloaking the eyes,


often operating in disguise.



Flawed and fearless, shameful and tainted, but the queen still dips and delves in Motherland moves and righteous grooves.


The babies be made and born and paid and adorned by daddies.


Cyphers and talismans, smudging the challenges.


Danger queen on the scene.


 


 


 


She be on the Other Side, serving as Master Teacher,


cuz she a Suthin Gurl,


 


 


She be a beast wit it.


Don’t look her in the eyes, your third eye may go blind.


That’s how her power pushes through the elements.


You had best be on point, or soon become irrelevant.


No love is lost, just bring it or be tossed.


Nothing wrong with standing for what you believe in, right Ms. Wright?


 


Well fact is, she is honest and fearless and I still love her.


Give me the chance and I’ll take her, make her my Mrs, make her my business.


 


I could go on and on and on and on.


My eternal muse making me moan and yearn and groan and burn.


Sho nuff, my heart is foreva on fire for this Dangerous Queen.  Ya dig?


 


Peace.


 


screen-shot-2018-08-15-at-4.30.58-pm
	

	

	




			

			
							
		

	
	

		
False Hoods
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		
Brows bent as I break down the story of America.


This wrinkle in time had my forehead looking older than it should


Because I’m worried about my children, in my hood.


This plantation struggle prevalent as the past 10 generations.




This false emancipation.


This mass incarceration.




Androids filling voids.


Reality TV white house trends.


And Facebook friends.


Snatching our minds with the absolute worse rhymes




(With mumble, auto tune hooks)And the hooks.  The hookers




With mind numbing madness


So caught up that we have to hate on each other


No idea what it means to be sister or brother




All we now know is currency flow…




Where is the black press?


Where is the voice of my own?




…Karibu to my zone.




Separated from reality when we continue to follow the typical trends.


We have become a subculture of talkers.  


Running off at the mouth like diarrhea.


Vultures with fixed gaze, we drink, then blaze and get a false sense of security, 


Good old fashioned liquid courage.




We now living in an of era of Trumped up charges. 


An era where we have spoken so much that our ears bleed, 


and we still proceed




…with the rally cry.




Where do we go from here?




To be continued…












Part 2




Young, gifted and BLACK,


And always under attack – 


The cyber bully boldly blasting the brothers


On the world wide web.




Tweeted the hateful words


That shake the nation.


Holdin us back with destructive distraction


Fear gaining traction.




We live through it all


We live to tell the story 


Witness the glory


Witness the well oiled oppression machine


Do its thing




Leaving massive fever on the forehead of the fear mongering.




America the beautiful…


The peaks and valleys, rivers and lakes.


Missteps and mistakes.


Nature serving as its mask.












Part 3




Wading in the water to justice.


Smelling the foul air.


Chest swells.  Inhale – exhale.


Then blow the trumpet across the land we call the free.


The home,


Of the Brave.


Mellow and cool.


Using gun tools, focus on the target.


Don’t lose sight.


Know your right to fight.




Read to elevate the mind.


Be kind, then relentless with might.




Flee the degradation, the ills 


and live the good life 


free of the strife.




This land is your land.  


Colored man, Afrikan.




Diasporic beauty.


Hues and shades and tones


And complexions perplexing.


Blend from within.


Cause the evolution is the revolution.


The paradigm shift is inevitable.


What role will you play?

	

	

	




			

			
							
		

	
	

		
Choices Pt. 1
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		
You can watch me fly…




My soulmate, serving me well


Allowing me to dispel, all myths of utopia.


Blended minds, though crooked times


Make me wonder how true the tall tale is…




When I have seen glorious moments


And I am confused and alone


I rest upon my throne


Battered and bludgeoened


But I, force myself to stand tall


I look to the heavens.




My soul runs in the pastures


The colorful wild weeds


Decorating the land with grand


Understandings of life.




I saw a vision through it all.


I watched the heavy rain fall,


Then cleanse the earth


So that I may find refuge in the understated desire to redeem.




Habits formed from years of struggle.


From years of passing time.


From years of hustle and grind.


Making due,


When the path was not in clear view.




And then,


Dreams of soulmate and twin flame,


And love and lust


Refrain and restrain.




Frustrated – making a choice shouldn’t be this hard.




To Be Continued…

	

	

	






			

			
							
		

	
	

		
Cloud 9
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		
Once I watched a young girl cry,


She was wounded deep inside.


From a society that neglected her


Used her and abused her.


But then I saw her rise.








She went on to find hope.


She escaped the liquor and dope


Escaped the over sexed moments that were expected of her.


She allowed me to see her


In the true sense of divine vision.








Where eyes gaze through walls


Only to flip the image and bounce it back.


Because she was bouncing back


And though she was always under attack


She knew that in order for her people to survive


It was her destiny to never lose sight of the prize.








This is when I knew,


That this world was controlled by only a few.


That this girl knew how to navigate the distance


Between sorrow and sadness,


Through triumph and gladness.








She was suffering yet challenging the status quo.


She understood that she could transcend universes with a decent flow.








 And so, she put pen to pad.


And she wrote.


She a wrote poem so sweet,


That it made me love, lust, and cry all in the same heartbeat.


I bought into her indulgence of the words.


Her attack on the absurd,


Her grit and might and woman power.








I was entranced, watching her lips move,


Watching her hips groove


I didn’t even know what to do.


I was stuck, feet planted, cemented in the concrete.








I winced out loud,


Cause I wanted her so bad.


I wanted to wipe away her sad.


I looked out into the universe.


I shook myself free of the fantasy.


I began to look at her realistically








She was there to save my soul.


How convenient, how bold.


In the end, we’ll both win.


It was in that moment I realized…


It’s been a long time, since I’ve been on cloud nine.

	

	

	




	
	

		
Her Right To Do Wrong
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		
tumblr_o8cgylbxxl1srznu9o1_500


 


She thought it was her right to do wrong.


Same old pain, same old song.


Travelin’ on her path alone, lookin’ for love in one after another.


 


 


 


Dirty tricks and silly games, began to form into reality


Tragedy


 


 


 


 


False gods and false hopes, thicken his spot, thickened her plot.


Dangerous time for a sista in need of the love she once held near.


 


 


 


Hurting from a lifetime of disappointment from brotha men, tryna get in.


Wishing for her to fall, for a chance, a little romance and late night calls


or the midday infidels.


 


The three wise men that did the most damage waited for their chance to redeem,


But in the scheme of things became cowardice,


Only telling their stories from their eyes,


Which bred little healing and rhetoric in disguise.


 


They too lie in pain, and ultimate disdain for the queens in their view, in their reach.


So in the meantime, they mean well but soon swell and lose their focus on the real prize.


 


Third eyes slowly closing, getting just a glimpse of what they could become.


Fucking so much til their hearts became numb.


And dumb founded when they realized that their experience wasn’t enough – to keep her.  ‘Cause she been there, done that.


Don’t you see her?


 


She too numb and sad, mad at her life.


Wondering where did the time go.


Why she can’t find loyalty in a decent flow.


Words escape mouths, escaping words, leading to absurd foundations where in the Distance there appears to be more hope, non-judgmental,


It is feminine and kind and soft and willing and listening…


Vicarious vixen posing as mistress.


 


And so, she thought it was her right to be wrong.


But it was the same old pain, same old song.


And thus in the end, she traveled her path alone,


But still looking for love in the arms of another.


 


Regressed, and hit the reset.


But without the moment to heal, revealed was her deep side of trap and slide.


And dropped into depressive lingering phases.


Because though the phrases were so dope and pure, for once,


The past had a grasp on this little princess,


In this anecdote of love, longing and actual belonging.


 


 


The path had to come clear, the balance was near,


Then confession dropped, new home, renewed resting spot.


Safety was coming, through the pain, through the pause.


Ready to learn of the cause.


 


Ready.


 


The truth serum opened up the can of this saucy sista,


Learning of why he dismissed her, then missed her…


An all too common equation in the life and times of this tough lady spirit.


 


 


It’s time.  Wake up.  Withdraw.  Accept.  Destroy.  Rebuild.  Relax.  Repeat.  RITUAL.  Resonance. Rewrite.  Renaissance.  Ignite.  Testify.  Confess.  Then Heal.


 


 


The time clock traveled across the seas to find the Queen in blossom.


Respect.


The time clock traveled to a new space and cosmic love hate.


 


 


 


Mental capacity breached, bleached to the germs were crucified, and the lies?


Lay dormant in the dirt.


The beautiful lotus bloomed into righteous thought,


As she dealt with the scars of her wrongs.


 


 


 


 


She thought it was her right.  And she was correct,


But lacked the respect upon her own dome.


Living the symbolic manifestation from the comb.


Full of honey and feminine quality, her truth came to pass.


 


And at last. she. found. peace.





	

	

	




			

			
							
		

	
	

		
Refuge
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		
Taking a mystical stance on this road to freedom.


When I’m confronted with the blindside,


Suffering from false pride,


Third eye opens wide.


Liquid pools of bliss.


Following the ancient thought,


Thoth if you truly taught,


Scribe for the ages,


The Goddess misbehavin’,


But shedding her truth to the world.


The masculine metaphor of righteous path and folklore relinquishes the damage and despair.


Ridding souls of dwelling scars, learning histories of soulmate broken promise and mistakes,


Lies for the cover-up…


And we wait…


In the mist of confession we wane, we blame, and we bend the rules.


All the while, we look for refuge in inner city bedroom blues.


 
 
 
  
 Maat 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  

	

	

	




			

			
							
		

	
	

		
Eclipse: The time has come…
				

					Posted on  by Ali Jamal				


				

	

		
This is a day of deep thought.  A rare moment when sun joins moon, where beat meshes with tune, when magic is being made.


Learned the deepest of lessons as I walked the humble path.  That day when karma comes to collect the debt.  When the stories of momma and poppa blend and explode with jali dreams.


The next perspective knows what it means.  The filter is thick and ready and preparing me for the unseen.  The gold is tainted and dented, but unstained and righteous.  Sharp as nails made of brass.


An art form concocted from a fatal blow, a pain unknown and defined by the untrained soul. The screams and cries unbearable and unshaken by apologies, matched sorrows and new companionship.


False hope had led a charge of downward spiral and desperation. The universe within in peril and despair and dangerously close to disrepair.


But the eclipse was on time. A sign from the divine. A day break forged by witness of self reflection and repentance. The clarity and sound mind now guide the lost child into hope and secure and friendship that shall endure.


Let the distractions be as they may, but allow the love to find peace, dipped in humble, dipped in lavenders and honey from the earth and crust.


And now, the time has come, to get back to my drum, and beat the rhythm of a thousand and one souls who once led a free and brilliant people.  A people who were beautiful and inventive and only troubled by the inevitability of an ancient past.  A past of dismiss and reject and nevertheless, the soul remained intact until primed for attack.  And after many years of plan and death and conquer of race, a people shall rise as will I.  My redemption, a micro of the grand scheme.  And my dream shall come true.  My team is me and you.  If I am deemed worthy, then my battle has only begun, the time has come, the moon has joined its sun.