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    Obsidian Truth: Remnants of the Soul's Exposure
    Obsidian Truth: Remnants of the Soul's Exposure
    Obsidian Truth: Remnants of the Soul's Exposure
    Ebook162 pages1 hour

    Obsidian Truth: Remnants of the Soul's Exposure

    By Kwuelii

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    About this ebook

    As a volcano erupts, it spews lava. This lava flows downward and begins to cool. As it does, it tranforms into a black glasslike rock, obsidian. Obsitian Truth is a compilation of the truest narrations of the author's spirit. He allows self to surface with a glasslike transparency. Various facets of life are elaborated on. Emotions are addressed. Struggles are confessed. Defeat is acknowledged. Victory is proclaimed. Falsity is confronted. Truth prevails.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateSep 9, 2011
    ISBN9781462040926
    Obsidian Truth: Remnants of the Soul's Exposure
    Author

    Kwuelii

    Kwuelii is twenty-nine years of age and was born and raised in Houston, Texas' Third Ward community. He overcame hurdles of hardship and continues to run life's race. He is also a free -spirited expresser of self in artistic form after having authoring over eight thousand poems, short stories and essays in fourteen years. As a student of life, he lives to show and prove the greatest degree human purpose, potential and achievement.

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      Book preview

      Obsidian Truth - Kwuelii

      PART ONE

      Third World Experience

      By: Kwuelii

      when the three fingers are thrown in the air

      to some it seems that there’s no care

      but the reality is that

      those of us that grew up there

      had a rare

      muthafuckin’ experience

      no parents

      goin’ to the galleria people starin’

      feelin’ like a caged beast

      children wit’ bare feet

      nuttin’ to eat

      made rice sweet

      to deceive

      hunger as it got stronger

      combs or

      hot irons

      transfers expirin’

      sirens

      smilin’

      the history of Dowlin’

      but wolves howlin’

      young sheep

      mutated

      girl’s desire for attention

      blatant

      no daddy

      so gyratin’

      was the method

      of self expression

      transgression

      of nature

      inwardly questionin’

      can it get greater

      gamblin’ shack wagers

      pagers

      pay phones

      old cats slam bones

      mother moan

      sigh and cry

      prayin’ for sons that ain’t home

      distant

      in prison

      by a society that dissed em’

      dismissed em’

      masses discarded

      and the audacity of capitol hill

      to inquire about the hardness

      the dream of martin

      is the goddamn nightmare

      we inherited

      turnin’ the cheek

      got heads busted in the streets

      tears leave salty remnants on cheeks

      of so many she’s

      that the he’s

      are an endangered species

      hunted by

      uniformed predators

      newspaper editors

      don’t tell those stories

      we young and restless

      no victor or drucilla

      but plenty niggas

      delano and truxillo

      bred

      bread desired

      fuck crackers

      that wouldn’t hire

      hustlin’ transpired

      razor blades

      plastic

      chemical concoctions

      gunscockin’

      protectin’ the few blessin’

      the essence of devilish testin’

      yep TSU right across

      but education is incompatible

      with the situation

      it’s the first law of nature

      self preservation

      if defied

      the only other option is to die

      why

      is that what they wanna know

      standin’ in front of sto’s

      cause a want for mo’

      exists

      heard the t-jones called bitch

      raggedy ass jeans my cousin gave me

      need a stitch

      started stashin’ work in the ditch

      houses built by bricks

      one wish

      wit’ no genies

      ample bottles

      pain drank away

      deuces, fo’s, and eights

      pints and gallons

      runnin’ the race

      as a stallion

      at the Kentucky Derby

      and the fine dressed

      witness this

      asfuckin’ entertainment

      we in pain and

      ain’t shit changin’

      wagin’ war

      wit’ primitive weapons

      youth

      marchin1 and steppin’

      what Iraq goin through ain’t nothin’

      in comparison

      no runnin’ water

      no lights

      no beds

      no cars

      evidenced by scars

      and wounds

      babies exit mothers’ wombs

      only to be consumed

      by avid tombs

      and morgues

      so the choice to abort

      often seems betteronly communication

      with fathers

      is by letters

      from modern plantations

      incarceration

      is simply slavery’s replacement

      but the chains

      impregnates minds

      in the fertile soil

      of the cerebellum

      seekin’ to discover

      all that school didn’t tell em’

      no longer a rival

      to the Bible

      a fervent reader

      of the Bhagavad-Gita

      and encyclopedia

      spiritually spawned

      after perusin’ the Qur’an

      and it dawns

      that life’s purpose

      on earth

      is greater than hurt divested of the identity

      enemy given

      livin’

      not merely existing’

      THE END FELT

      By: Kwuelii

      I

      can feel it in the air

      mu’fucas don’t care

      never did

      and as a kid

      it’s what i felt

      dealt a loaded deck

      gamblin wit life

      destiny had loaded dice

      mr. I.c.

      warned me

      didn’t heed

      weed, syrup sippin

      dip and

      x

      enhanced the sex

      with jezebel

      her pussy warmed by the fires of hell

      the pockets swell

      riskin jails and prisons

      distorted vision

      single parent homes

      t-jones skin and bones

      subsistin on a diet on stones

      and hootas

      and refusin

      to do differently

      rats seekin to be freed

      by cheese

      others wit blisters

      my sisters

      doin for self

      cause the department of human services aint listenin

      to the cries in the distance

      life is

      too short

      the ghetto

      mine

      is like yours

      live if the work is pure

      dropped on a dub

      is love

      came back at 28 hate

      for life itself

      identities are veiled

      facades

      fraud existence

      the concept of real

      is bullshit

      ya ace’ll fuckya bitch

      and snitch

      all in the same motion

      barkin and locin

      wide open souls

      stuck in the throes

      of the devil hold

      blind deaf and dumb

      pistol drawn to the dome while you cum

      damned by the dick

      a trick

      greedy tics

      suck the blood

      of hard hustlas

      each night

      worse than sunni and shiite

      wars

      palenstine and israel

      is eden

      in comparison to this world

      they are no little girls, boys, or toys

      the genesis of life

      is a fight for survival

      no bible

      no quran

      no veda

      no words of confucious

      just confusion

      mass mayhem

      gems

      with abandoned glisten

      as a witness

      of the behavior

      a risen savior

      was born within

      THE END.

      Son of Sampson

      By: Kwuelii

      henceforth . . .

      celibate

      NO MO’ fuckin1

      for uncle sam

      the game?

      i got from Sam,

      Sherman,

      Bunny, and Wayne Wayne

      done changed

      elevated . . .

      in a way that

      benefits

      greater than

      a grand in hand . . .

      what i’m sayin’

      is . . . I’m a man

      NOW . . .

      hard

      but a god i became

      exclaimed my pain

      chains broken

      thought provokin’ . . .

      locin . . .

      spoken words

      heard widily . . .

      lively . . .

      expressing . . .

      the correction

      of past error

      clearer vision

      prison gave that

      now i took . . . it

      the bullshit . . .

      overcame

      the cage was my brain . . .

      experienced boot camp . . .

      the inner lamp . . .

      lit

      as the vision got bigger

      society

      can call me . . .

      nigger,

      siddity . . .

      convict me

      and whatever else . . .

      the hand I’ve been dealt

      FUCK IT-

      won’t play the game . . .

      life is too serius . . .

      no longer delerious

      resolved . . .

      problem solved

      in a state of confusion

      and the

      contusions

      are my reasons

      for refusin’

      to be denied

      i didn’t lie

      i’m a nazarite

      IN MY OWN RITE.

      Recidivistic Memory

      By:

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