Acha niweke mazingira: Ninatembea hadi wanaume watano wanaoteleza kwenye skateboard karibu na sanamu katika Prospect Park, wananing'inia kila mmoja na ninakaribia na kusema, "Hey, niliandika shairi juu yako, kwa ajili yako, naweza kukusomea?"
Wote watano wananitazama kama, nini, kuzimu nini kinatokea hapa? Na kisha mmoja baada ya mwingine wanasema, "Ndio, hakika, fanya hivyo." Simu yangu imesalia na chaji 1%. Inaweza kufa kabla hata sijaanza. Mimi ni mwanamke wa kizungu mwenye umri wa miaka 40 aliyevaa tabaka ili kukimbia na macho yangu pekee ndiyo yanaonekana. Ni vijana watano wa rangi, wenye umri wa miaka 20, wote wamefunika nyuso zao. Hali hii inakubalika kuwa aina ya kitu ambacho ungefanya mzaha. Kwa njia zote, fanya.
Nilikaribia kuwafuata baada ya kuiandika, lakini nikawaza, kwa nini usiuambie jumba lako la kumbukumbu kuwa ni jumba lako la kumbukumbu? Inaweza kuleta madhara gani?
Mimi ni mpya kwa ushairi, lakini, napenda kuwa ni rahisi sana kushiriki kuliko mchezo mzima. Unaweza tu kumpa mtu shairi.
Ningependa kuishiriki nanyi nyote pia. Nadhani sanaa huponya, hutufungua na kuziba mapengo, na kutufanya tujisikie tukiwa peke yetu. Ni kweli kwangu hata hivyo. Na nilipenda kuwatazama wakiteleza, furaha yao ilinijaza.
Wacheza skaters wenye rangi nyekundu na nyeusi
Bodi zinazozunguka
chini ya sneakers nyeupe
Vijana wenye vipawa na
Kuvutana kila mmoja
A laini yehhhhhh
Miguno ya furaha
Mazungumzo ya mbwembwe
Whooo hapo
Kuongeza mbegu mbili zilizopinduliwa
Rangi ya chungwa ya barabarani na 911 bluu
Hawa ndio wanaume wenye furaha zaidi
Imepandwa kati ya mikuyu
Deki zikigongana
Inaonekana kutojali
Hadi digrii ishirini na tano
Chini ya jua la Brooklyn
Kwa wale wanaoshangaa walidhani nini - Walipigwa sakafu. Walipenda kuwa mada ya shairi. Wote walitoa matuta ya ngumi. ... Ilikuwa ni kubadilishana mapenzi. Nilikuwa nimewapenda na ndipo nilipata kuwaonyesha. Nao wakarudisha. Na kufikiria karibu sikugeuka nyuma na kusema nini kuzimu na kuwasomea. I mean, ilikuwa ajabu... hey, niliandika nyinyi shairi naweza kushiriki nanyi? ... lakini, ni furaha gani.
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Love the story - and the poem. I can see and feel the joy in those moments of sharing. Thank you.
Your story made me happy.
It’s really interesting, because, obviously, you took a great risk. Whenever we share our personal creativity, it’s a risk, but way more so sharing with complete strangers. Brava for that! (And the poem is really really beautiful..,)
Ah, yehhh, healing the world one small act at a time.
A wave and a smile go a long to smooth another’s journey, and perhaps even soften a bully’s heart. }:- a.m. proverb on the hoof
That is a wonderful story and poem. Sharing with the muse. Love it!
Thank you for these pure-hearted demonstrations of love. You "See No Strangers!"
Thank you Winter for listening to your inner voice that said, "stop & share"
I resonate deeply!
I've had the most amazing and deep connection in the streets, on subways,
busses, sidewalks when I simply stop and connect. usually I'm the one initiating. Though at times, it's also the willingness to stop and engage ♡
In DC, it was with Mr Weeks, a towering man with a booming voice, ebony skin and a twinkly grin. I'd see him when I walked to work. I dress rather "loudly" in pink with like green, turquoise blue and Mr Weeks began our initial connection with "hello, where you goin' dressed like that on a Tuesday morning?"
I began our connection by stopping & responding, "World Bank where I'm teaching Storytelling"
Mr Weeks: "phhhhhpppphhht, World Bank?! They don't need you, the kids, the teens, they need you..."
And thus began the glorious nearly daily encounters and conversations, "being schooled" by Mr Weeks. And my payment to Mr Weeks were Hugs. Initial offer from me to him and his response, "hugs are, at times, better than any money"
I always carry my Free Hugs sign in my bag... Mr Weeks would see me halfway down the block and be ready for me with arms open.
Thank you again Winter, for your courage to connect & reminding me of Mr Weeks.
[Hide Full Comment]Hugs from my heart to yours,
Kristin