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Universoul
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Christopher Sims a.k.a.
UniverSouLove
Poet, Spoken Word Artist,
Performer, Activist and Educator
UniverSouLove has been writing poetry since 1985 - the culture of hip-hop/rap music, introduced him to his writing talents. Since then, UniverSouLove has written hundreds of poems, and has graced the stages of dozens of open mikes, Slams, features and music venues. To his credit, he has produced three chapbooks, and three spoken word CDs. To share his art and message with the masses is his love.

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Black Women Cry Purple Tears
Black women cry purple tears
After years, and years of loneliness,
abandonment, and betrayal.
They croon blues songs in tune
with false promises
Of lost lovers who watched them
cry themselves into lakes.
Purple tears. Deep violet tears they cry.
Tears that clog city drains
With desperate calls for freedom
From rotten children whose fatherless lives
corrupted them before they could count to ten.
I see the blues on black women's faces
Under the foundation of eyelids and on cheeks.
I can sense the pain, the frustration, the failures.
I can hear the moans, the growls, the screams.
I don't have enough tissue for these tears.
I don't know if one box is enough.
Or, if I should even bother.
Because, I have learned that crying
Is a form of release. Crying helps to heal.
But, what a bout those tears
that don't seem to stop?
Tears that speak out loud?
The tears that ask for help?
Black women cry purple tears
In a non-peaceful world
Where people make nasty comments
about her upbringing, her hair, her body,
her children, her house.
I have only two shoulders,
two ears,
And not much time to listen.
Those tears burn. They burn. Burn. Burn.
©Christopher Donshale Sims 2007


She Is My Religion
She is my religion,
Her soul is my sanctuary.
I find solace in her happiness.
There is a realm inside
The crevices of her being
Where I can obtain peace
at any time.
Whether at the height
of day
Or the deepest of purple nights,
my sacredness is her solitude.
She is my religion.
It is her I believe in.
Her system's make-up
mirrors the Ancient Moons
Of Ancestors who own the
rights to our so-called modern civilization.
We should be praying
To the Mothers who gave birth
To the wisdom she whispers in my ears.
It is the echoes of the night
that encourage me to pray to her.
To share my deepest thoughts and secrets
in the company of her calm.
She is my religion.
My baptism occurred
One morning as she sang a song
To me in my early years of
understanding music.
At that very moment,
I belonged in between
Each and every syllable.
In between the rhythmical,
The painted pictures.
Each word was holy water
upon my fore head, and tip of my tongue.
My religion became stories passed on
Through her vessel. My beliefs, the color
Of English's tasteful vowel sounds.
She is my religion:
The naked moon seeming to travel
With me hand in hand as we revolve around
One another for the sake of balance, life.
I pray to thee:
May I continue to breathe
As Sacred sands cover the lands
Of this holy Earth.
May women continue to give birth.
May men continue to search for knowledge.
May children continue to have the freedom
needed to nurture them before life teaches them.
May bees continue to sip nectar from flowers.
May trees continue to bud during Spring.
May every animal protect their young
and be a part of this thing we call life.
I hope rainbows decorate our skies after rainfall
And we continue to love as human beings.
She is my religion.
She is a solar system
Of waves and regions
Of laughter and light.
She is woman, wisdom, the moon, the night.
© Christopher Donshale Sims 2007

 

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