what is black, really?! as vague a question as is the answer, this is a subject that matters much as the lives it purports to identify. if your identity goes only as far as the surface, how deep then your roots?! are shallow conclusions an indication that you lack a foundation?! lives unstructured, you know, missing a building block?! mounting inquiries to this status of black only adds to a fragile state of human structure. what then of this community?! its built in constant conflict of remaining upright, given joints that do not align cause friction towards anyone attempting mobility. be it upward, or simply a desire to be oneself, these acts aggravate those that cling at the periphery, the surface of things. such minds are merely grappling with flimsy facts about what defines one's heart. nonetheless, the current state of this grinding existence on an outwardly diluted identity, is a lack of a grasp on what predicates thought.
emotion comes across every mind as though it belongs, yet its often curtailed from engaging it deeply. i think. the latter thought betrays how doubtful a life lived in the mind. i think, therefore i am. doubt. i feel, therefore i know. true to thought, knowledge does become power and reveals how dominant a heart is, always. a heart that is constantly battled to acquire some form or identity, as its fluid existence is being contained. hindered from mobility by artificial joints, this collection of an existence is then made to look from the outside. it is as though the mind must control, making anyone with a heart subservient. at the surface of life.
black is heart. the art of living, able enough to endure caning and remain in love with a tree. with its bark turn rings, its the only structure that gives water form; soul.
mitishamba ~ green codes of my construct
'i a green'