How many fears came between us? Earthquakes, diseases, wars where hell rained smoldering pus from skies made of winged death.
ABERJHANIPeace is not so much a political mandate as it is a shared state of consciousness that remains elevated and intact only to the degree that those who value it volunteer their existence
More Aberjhani Quotes
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Writing for me is a form of spiritual discipline and creative vision, a means of being in the world and giving one’s love to it without compromise or dilution.
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What can bombs know of the illuminated fields so golden with heaven in your heart’s sacred lands?
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There is in Albert Camus’ literary craftsmanship a seductive intelligence that could almost make a reader dismiss his philosophical intentions if he had not insisted on making them so clear.
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The birth of a true poet is neither an insignificant event nor an easy delivery.
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In short, the power of a certain kind of dream is such that death need not indicate finality at all but rather signify a metaphysical and metaphorical leap forward.
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Looking at certain illuminated corners of or cracks within the mirror, the author can see fragments of an objective reality that comprise the physical universe, social communities, political dynamics,
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From her gospel-singing mother Cissy Houston, her legendary pop-diva cousin Dionne Warwick, and her Queen of Soul godmother Aretha Franklin
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When we vote we participate in the construction of a context.
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Someone had to embrace positive beginnings before anyone could celebrate successful conclusions or continuations.
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On faith’s battered back calm eyes etch prayers that cool a nation’s hot rage.
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Upon the lips of babes asleep I saw light embracing light and so allowed my syllables to rest there as a prayer they might sing in their dreams.
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The rainbows that dangle upon this mist: shatter. Like the smile of a child separated from his mother’s milk for the very first time.from poem Blood and Blossoms
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Because of this mixture of traits, these twins called Genius and Madness often appear to be the same thing.
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Millions of tears have fallen for black sons, brothers, lovers, and friends whose assailants took or maimed their lives and then simply went on their way.
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The thorn is a bridge spanning the muddy depths of agony and sorrow so that one may on the other side dance to the drums of the rose of joy.
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