A Poet's Journey by Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
I am rooted in your history, our paths intertwined. The awakening of humanity; opening hearts to injustice souls connecting through time. Liberation through freedom, voices aligning through love. Change is not a dream, but a truth to be lived. © Manivillie Kanagasabapathy AN: A collaboration with one of my favourite artist - the always amazing Thiviyaa… Continue reading Rooted to the Truth
I can see them try to break you, this other, a thing that exists outside the comfort of what they think they know too scared to see you and their face reflected in your eyes. To look those powerful eyes, that allow no lies, and ask them to stare at the hate that they made… Continue reading 30/2017: Break
The loudest noise, in the world, is the sound of your voice asking a question to a room of indifferent ears. © Manivillie Kanagasabapathy
The texture of my life is not bound by the straightness of my hair. Though you try to tell me, that my dreams can only be achieved by the light reflecting off the glow of my porcelain skin, available today for the easy purchase of my identity. If the wishes I have can come true… Continue reading Day 350: Curly Hair
I refuse to let the politics of fear, begin to divide the love between us. So much has happened this past year, I get the sway of a blank canvas. Sometimes the choices may seem unclear, but really what's left of justice? Is your view from my shoes, sincere? Or is it easy to pretend… Continue reading Day 320: Hey, White Person
Let's forget the fact that these lives lost were people, with dreams and families. Imagining future stories to be created and recollecting tales from the past. Let's pretend that these people didn't just step outside to see, and to feel the air of freedom on their onyx skin. Understanding the gift that freedom is, and the ability to share their wonder with others. Let's argue… Continue reading Day 289: Why Brown Lives Should Care
**Trigger Warning: Abuse (Physical)** Deep Brown eyes stare back at me, Fleeting whispers floating between us, Shadows creep silently, Across broad brown shoulders, The darkness melding within the chocolate hues, Lengthening to point accusingly, At the faded bruise That still held faint outlines of his hand. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?” I hear… Continue reading Day 49: The Lies We Tell
Am I defined by the words on this page, Or through the hands with which I write them? My pen traces the curves and lines, Of colonial words used to erase history. My understanding of "Eastern knowledge" A smörgåsbord of people, ideas, and terms, You did not understand, Yet teach me about myself. I pray… Continue reading Day 44: Culture
