Delicacy

Submitted by Glenys Obasi

My delicacy is one without a fortress, Exposed to sorrow and weariness,


Fragile enough to fracture,

Tough enough not to shatter.

My delicacy is one that is ductile,

Contoured to bear the weight of my ache, Engulfing my pain,

To shelter my heart, in vain.

I am not granted the privilege to be soft, Nor can I afford to be a damsel in distress, Because Blackness is not awarded daintiness. Blackness erodes my vulnerability, Giving me this fallacy of being invincible, As if I were not birthed with the sa me skin, That bruises and bleeds,

And the same heart that breaks.

My niche is to play heroine,

To come to everyone’s rescuing,

To be everyone’s saviour,

To be my knight in shining arm our. Blackness corrupts my femininity, Escaping with my innocence and purity, For that is reserved only,

For the fair, white and lovely.

My esse is disposable,

For as a Black woman,

As I exist, chiefly, to be of service to others. My misery is minute,

For I am humanity’s sacrificial lamb, And that is my virtue.

Yet I find solace in my solitude,

For I can disintegrate,

And find bliss in my melancholia.

And envision a utopia,

Where I release myself from,

The demands of a dauntless demoiselle, And metamorphosize into,

My rawest, truest, self.

And feel every ounce of my woes,

Then mold my unraveled soul,

And reappear whole.

---

Resisting Arrest

Submitted by Usman Dauda

Silence, something about silence makes me sick

Because a vocal minority

Talk, Talk, Talk about the fate of minorities

Who never asked for them to make being their saviour a priority

Yet they battle on the terminology, two sides of a toxic dichotomy

That result in words without action, any taken executed improperly

And decades of debated philosophies, year upon year is stopping me

From feeling safe from those who say to protect and serve gives them superiority

Over my actions, temperament, and personality,

I guess that’s what happens when the license to kill becomes as easy to obtain as any other commodity

Still atoning for the primal sin,

Of having a different colour of skin,

Where its hard to get loans because you’re on the wrong side of the lines that were red,

And leaving for a jog from your home, can turn to running for your life instead,

When your back is a threat, according to those wearing the bullet proof vests.

Its easy to sleep on a world hoping to write you off as resisting a rest.

And now people awake from years of inaction,

To bring justice to actors with a passion, for trashing the people they’re passing,

And carved from the ashes of the times when slavery was sanctioned,

Were the badges that were passed to the anti-civil rights assassins,

Who followed the fashion,

Unionized to bring you the thin blue line faction,

“Protect only your peers in blue, and serve the powers that be.

Don’t worry, you’re new, but from years in our system you’ll see,

It’s all of them against you, and that’s how it always will be.

And if the heel of our boots, don’t paint the scene of the scheme,

Take a page from their book, and switch to taking a knee.”

---

Within Our Roots

Submitted by Kimberly Douglas

we have had crowns placed on our heads since birth

in the form of culture-rich curls that hold our history

ringlets which keep us grounded in our roots

preserving each strand of our identity like the DNA we hold hair so pure, rich, and delicate it is only fitting to refer to it as “natural”

but the audacity to claim it’s “just hair”

is the silencing of a nation

for this hair holds so much more

“just hair” translates to

“just” mediocre

“just” ordinary

“just” average

but black hair is not the bare minimum

black hair is black expression

black freedom

black joy

black liberation

black history in the making

we should find confidence and comfort in our kinks and coils our bantu knots and braids

every dip and rise within our waves

our edges natural or laid

our cornrows act as the preservation of black stories

years of struggle and triumph neatly overlapped and intertwined our locs hold keys to our lineage

wrapped tightly to encapsulate our close-knit communities we walk this earth with crowns on our heads

passed down by the ones who came before us

there are centuries of triumph within these roots

and despite this worlds efforts to break us down

we are known to grow and flourish from our struggles so we nourish our scalps and caress our coils

so our manes can do the same

black hair is black power

with the strength to spark an uprising

the ability to leave heads turned, jaws dropped, and eyes widened beads dangle from braids clacking together

like a million ancestors applauding in approval

afro picks sit comfortably tucked against scalps

fists standing high in the air like a revolution

each style asserts itself like a battle cry

a resistance

a movement that will never die

black hair is magical

ethereal

with the ability to defy gravity

exceptional

a reflection of the world around us

so our afros resemble trees

because we are a product of our roots

in touch with nature

every strand on our head crafted with intention by our creator our twists are sun kissed

our puffs, powerful

so we wrap our hair in silk to maintain this magic

black hair is beautiful, mystical, versatile

in every length

thickness

texture

and style

black hair is black professionalism

and white professionalism

and every type of professionalism

for years we’ve been brainwashed to believe our coils were a calamity convinced that black hair wasn’t beautiful

wasn’t precious

wasn’t acceptable

but colonialism has no place in these curls

I will not texturize the tradition out of these tresses

or relax these ro ots to maintain a 9 to 5

I refuse to tarnish this crown

for the sake of eurocentrism

so understand that when you steal our styles you are erasing black stories muting black voices

capitalizing off black creativity

being praised in the same breath as we are penalized

understand that such beauty cannot be diminished to mediocrity and prefaced with “just”

black hair is far more complex, far greater, essential, a must

so no, you can’t touch it

can’t run your fingers through my family tree

can’t tug at my lineage

but I don’t blame you for marvelling at such greatness for being stopped in your tracks

for staring in awe at the many cultures wrapped up in my curls my hair is a historical landmark

my mane, a museum

the crowns on our heads have been placed here since birth so you may look but not touch

for this work of art is priceless

observe the uniqueness

behold the beauty

gaze in awe at the grace

that lies

within our roots

---

911, What’s Your Emergency?

Submitted by Sunday Ajak View bio

Sunday Ajak, a 21 year old Sudanese Canadian Western University student, studying third year

Social Justice has been publicly speaking for the past five years. Sunday started speaking in High School from time to time, he knew he had a desire to speak, it was one day at his high school when he saw Leroy Hibbert, at a school assembly, things changed for this young spoken word poet. “During these assemblies, I kind of just fade off as everyone does — you don’t really pay attention. But  for some reason, hearing him talk actually made me listen and it was weird because I’ve never done that before it. You know the attention span of a teenager is like a minute and then it goes away, but this one… I was holding on to every single word.” 

Sunday had entered a talent show, inspired by Leroy Hebert from that one day at his school assembly, Sunday went out and bedazzled those who were in the audience. From there, the spoken word passion for Sunday was becoming real. An active member of The Black Students Association of Western University, Sunday has performed his magic at numerous events including Black History Month events. It does not stop at Western, he also has been involved with Black Lives Matter virtual events with his spoken word speeches. When Sunday is not doing his school assignments, he turns down the lights and goes into his writing mode, crafting his words into what will be his next spoken word creation. He goes under the name Speaker Sunday, where once a week, Sunday uploads his recordings to his YouTube channel, as well as social media. Some of this amazing writers' speeches include “911,” “Change,” “Covid,” plus so many more. He takes his listeners on a magical journey through his words, mesmerized by the amazing talent of Sunday Ajak, What brings out the magic in Sunday Ajak, POSITIVE LIFE thru POSITIVE WORDS. 

Spoken word is not Sunday’s only gift of words, he is also a motivational speaker, inspiring others when he speaks at events that are aimed at Feel Good words. Sunday has performed both spoken word and motivational speaking at events at Western, various high schools in London and surrounding areas. With Covid 19 having taken its toll in so many ways, this has given Sunday even more drive, ambition and motivation to take his inner thoughts and put them to words. The spoken word art in itself from Sunday Ajak, is unlike the standard spoken word found at Poetry Slams, Sunday, has his own style and flow, that tells his craft in more of a story with emotion. Upcoming projects will take Sunday into a whole new era of spoken word with a touch of motivational speaking. As his audience hears his new words, they want more. Sunday takes negative energy and makes it positive energy. His aurora when he performs is an experience all on its own. He owns the event while he is speaking giving every ounce of passion and energy that this incredible young artist has.

“I have a dream that one day my speeches will change the world, and I live in each moment trying to make that a reality. Regardless, if I can use my passion for speaking to positively impact at least one person, then I am living a happy life. I don’t wish to be famous or be wealthy, I only seek to help those who may need it because in the end; I do to.” Sunday Ajak

https://www.theinterrobang.ca/articleaID=15604

https://youtu.be/YcSqKlmg208

https://youtu.be/TscGMKaZCvM