Still I Rise: Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Chromatic Aberration

Red. 

Like when the sun sets, you know, and for that one moment, the sky turns into this molten mix of red, orange, blue and purple? That red. And it's all I see- that bare tree, covered in red. In the midst of all the greenery around it, it's browns and red set it apart- standing out among the crowd. As the bus heads closer to it, I can make out the flowers- as big as my hands. 

Grey. A bird shoots past my window, and all of a sudden, my gaze is drawn to the sky- the scatter of the birds...drawn towards the pavement littered with seeds.Smoothly landing down to the ground, only to effortlessly lift off again. 

Brown. A child runs through the flock, scattering the pigeons. His smile taking over his dark face, a face full of unbridled joy...a joy that makes him forget the cold or the lack of his clothes. Close by, his mother washes the utensils, her dupatta niftily caught between her teeth. Orange. A contrast against her dark sun burnt skin. I see it fall out of her mouth as she looks up and calls out to her son. He shakes his head and continues frolicking... running across the road with reckless abandon as only people his age have the confidence to do.

The bus stops at the red light. This couple on the scooter...it's evident they've been fighting. Pink. Her tender face is flushed with the color, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. She looks around...anywhere but at him. He, who sits ignorant of the turmoil in her heart, facing onwards...and she, facing sideways. Her hands gripping her purse tightly, her body stiff and unbending to avoid contact. She turns and smiles at something... something in the car adjacent to her. One chubby little fist appears in my vision.

The light changes. The bus chugs on, it's mind number pitter patter restored. I close my eyes a bit..If I squint, I can make out a flurry of colors- blue, red, green, white- with my unfocused eyes. Like a camera, you know, if you keep the shutter open.

Yellow. The pale high walls keeping the secrets safe. We are there already. 

I run my hand through my hair and get off the bus. Green. I take my slippers off and walk through the grass. It is still wet from the morning dew. The soles of my feet stirring, as if with new found life. With each step, the ground seems to be reaching up, as if wrapping my feet in its roots, making me stay a little longer. The breeze is light as it rustles my hair. Blue. The color of the sky almost unreal.

Khaki. He's covered from head to toe in it, pride emanating from his stance. I catch his eye...Hazel eyes meet hazel eyes. Unsure, unhinged. He looks the same as the day he was born. Brown. His short hair. Wheat. His skin. Grey. His first scar. Gold. His mother's chain. My gaze breaks as I'm escorted up the stairs. Gentle hands, praying lips, fluttering eyes. It's put around my neck. I can feel the rough fibres lightly scraping my skin. 

Black. They've covered my face with a cloth. I can hear my own breath, my heartbeat in my ears, the blood coursing through my veins. Somebody coughs. I can hear them shuffling. I hear the thud as the plank beneath me gives way to empty air.

White.