As we continue our series SHE…
I am often asked, “How long have you been writing?” My answer usually ranges between the ages of 17 and 19, but the truth of the matter is I have been at it since grade 5. I was in a talented and gifted program (TAG), and I was tasked to create a book of poetry for a class project. This project introduced me to my love for words being eloquently linked together to tell stories. Not just any stories, but stories that my imagination birthed.
Over time I became more enamored with the multitude of pictures I could paint with words. It became an addiction for me to see how many people I could touch; how many women I could woo; how many of the fellas I could inspire to be more creative in their approach. I guess in a way I felt like writing was my mutant power (LOL). It was something about that pen and pad in my clutches that made me feel invincible. Writing gave me a power, an unequalled high, and a borderline sense of superiority. This craft has taken me on an amazing journey. I have been on stages with gifted musicians. I have headlined open mics with some of the most talented wordsmiths. I have been adored enough to be called a mentor to some of the most creative minds one would ever want to know. I enjoy the creative process, I really do. It’s like breathing the freshest of air. I cannot wait to inhale and exhale again.
The Anniversary of Silence
Facial features disguised
But she couldn’t hide the pain that outlined the unrest in her eyes
Untruths buried… Fed far to many lies
Even her tears had tears, drowning in cries.
Scared to be alone, so she couldn’t find the strength to leave him,
Unable to see past the blurred lines of hate wrapped in love, overwhelmingly deceiving
Because he loved her so much in that right eye that she hated to see thru her left
Thieving her self-esteem which each punch and kick, last breathes
Mommy I try to remember you,
But I pray to forget
The way that temperament changed when his empty bottle tipped
Liquor infused with the devilish spit
Massacre ensued, how fatal the script
Baby brother cry’s still echo with pain
Blood soaked denim still clutters my brain
No longer enjoying the beat of the rain,
Crazy how GOD’s music conjures up so much disdain
I just want to be plain,
A regular man who sleeps at night without the shakes and shivers
Without the cold sweats that my memory delivers
Without the eerie vision of a canvas painted in a nauseous river
My breathing is hampered
My legs are wearily weak
My arms don’t move
My mouth doesn’t speak
A victim
A witness
A murderous cowards retreat,
I try to drink the pain away
Smoke out the guilt
Purge the details from that night she was tragically killed
Silenced by Daddy
#TamirSaidIt
Tamir Salaam is a Dallas resident and a master composer of the written word. You can connect with him on facebook or blogspot to read more of his work.
Good word Tamir! You are truly gifted. I hope you find a way to sell your pieces.
this left me.speechless…… wow ….