Sacred Geometry

There is a sacred geometry in the creases of your smile
Like a love letter from God, telling me this life is worthwhile
So pardon me if I stare, I know it might seem out of line
But I was taught that there are signs for those who ponder the divine
I only aim to take the time to appreciate what I can
And the twinkle in your eyes tells me your heart understands

She

Who is she? Who has the weight of so many boulders cast down on not quite broad enough shoulders. Who loves so ferociously that she has broken her own heart only to have enough pieces to share with those who seem in need. She who radiates a tender warmth like that of a mother embracing her newborn. As sweet and welcoming as the softest breeze on a midsummer's day.

Grandmasters

All of our teachers were poor and righteous
Spinning funk into the message just to get by,
And us children were taught not to sweat the technique
Using rhythm to achieve U.N.I.T.Y.
All through Immortal lessons of cunning linguistics
they showed us the world was ours, the limit became the sky,
Freed from miseducation, we wanted some changes
And it became Common to go search for The Light
But then we reached a crossroads that broke our harmony
We were fighting internal battles, a darkness that's hard to hide.
Cause It ain't easy to abandon a C.R.E.A.M. mentality
Remaining positive's impossible if you ain't gotta tribe
Refugees of the war bore black eyes, carrying black stars, labeled the Outkasts, the world grew cold.
Those legends have come and gone. They left generations of lost ones,
forsaken by what we do, no ties to our roots
"R U STILL DOWN?" Our hearts call out
In need of a revision, cause we can't recall the message. Ears deaf to the flava of music de la soul.
So now, " the Choice is Yours. Continue on this unrighteous path, or return to the village slum. relearn your Definitions"
For only there, might you find, the rebirth
Of our Grandmasters

Untitled

Let us meet at the doorway of probabilities

Where the paths of "everything is possible"

And "anything can happen" meet

There, we'll rendezvous for a French kiss.

Exchanging faculties of hopes and dreams

Legacy

How grateful am I
For my grandmothers' lives
To be their legacy
They, my source of inspiration
Of all things Black Woman Fly
Regality in the face of ignorance
Classic, yet never predictable
They, who drew bubble baths on weekends
And taught curriculums during the week
grandma Rhoda the smooth talker with a sharp wit
Who would never let you catch her without her face on
And Patricia Anne with the biggest heart in the world, only to be matched by her endless amounts of patience and generosity
How grateful am I
To be their legacy
To be made up of their kisses and love
their hopes and prayers and dreams
How grateful am I
To have had access to such phenomenal women,
To have been shown so many secrets that only a grandmother can share
To have inherited such a legacy
Of love and patience,
and all things Black Woman Fly
How grateful am I


To Patricia Anne Boggs-Ewell, and Rhoda Mae Ewell

Inevitable

Inevitable

You watched me like I watched the trees
Inevitable
It is in our nature, I say
You met me, in a time when the skies were filled with vibrant shades,
Bright greens,
Then reds and oranges,
I was fire then, sun-kissed, and full of life
But you watched me as I watched the trees
And you witnessed death
The skies were filled with muted greys and dulled browns
We both laid naked in our truths, the earth littered with remnants of our seasons past
And I seemed cold, different
I only wanted you to see me as I see the trees
For who they are and who they will always be
It is in our nature, I say
You met me in a time when the skies were filled with vibrant shades
But if you loved me like I love the trees
You would understand
that it is in my nature,
though cold it may seem,
we all must grow and will encounter our own autumns eventually
It is in our nature
It is inevitable

You can't water us down

You say you like your women like you like your coffee, "strong and dark"
But it seems you only like them when they keep things "light and sweet"
Which ain't even coffee, that's just weak.


You can't water us down.

Church, Liquor Store, Liquor Store, Church

Church, liquor store, liquor store, park. Laundry mat, bodega, liquor store, pawnshop. Church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Nail salon, hair salon, men’s salon, thrift shop, church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Daycare, laundry mat, grocery store, pawnshop. Church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Elementary school, bodega, high school, county jail. Church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Public pool, playground, local bar, abandoned house. Church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Welfare, McDonald’s, homeless shelter, police station. Church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Soul food, Chinese food, hospital, graveyard. Church, liquor store, liquor store, church.

Seasons Greetings

Forgive me for stepping on my soap box

I know this kind of talk makes people uncomfortable,

but before we get fully invested into the holiday spirit I'd like to let you know that

Famine fills the belly of Yemen as grocery stores sell out in the states for holidays that claim gratitude and thanks.

Thank you God, and thank you Walmart! Where everything is proudly made in the U.S .of A., unless it's made in China of course!

Which is currently hosting its own Holocaust, More of a modern day Inquisition, but nevemind that, better repost about the best tech sales of the season, because that's more important.

Pass the gravy as I pour the tea, I'm scared my brothers in Palestine ain't Neva gonna be free.

I mean we do live in a world where entire countries can starve to death.

And corrupt governments have settled comfortably on the broken backs of their oppressed.

But let's not get to negative, that kind of talk makes people uncomfortable. And God forbid they have to live in a reality outside of the one currated for them by the powers that be.

So God bless America, and God bless the internet. Because where else could I do all my black Friday shopping.

Imagine living in a world where there isn't consistent internet access. Wild right?

Ain't it crazy that there are countries where the government regularly causes blackouts so that their citizens can't tell the rest of the world what's actually going on?

They definitely are going to miss all the Cyber Monday deals, but let's not get too deep because that kind of talk makes people uncomfortable.

Besides, if we leave right now we might be able to catch an early bird sale, better grab your wishlist.! Thank you God and thank you credit cards!

Seasons greetings, and to all a good night.

Mohamed Mattar // I will tell my brother

As the River Nile runs red

And solidarity turns timelines blue

Mohamed, let me tell you, that you, matter.

You. Mohamad Mattar matter.

And They. All. Matter.

Inna lillahi wa Inna illayhi raji'un

How can I be silent

When there are people who may never sleep again

For when their eyes close

All they can see is terror

As smoke filled skies

Carry the wails

Of children having their innocence stolen

And then waved as a flag for the world to see

Children not yet old enough to even spell

The word revolution

The word uprising

The word rape

The word silence

More silent than the bodies that now pile the floor of the morgues

Those left out to rot because there is no more room left to properly store them

While countess more simply just disappear

Ghosts in the darkness

And how can one look past

As connection to an entire country is intentionally stiffled

A blackout much darker than the skin that they say has nothing to do with the simple fact that

They just don't give a damn about the people of Sudan

Or the fact that in their eyes,

Certain histories that are older and much more alive than a cold, Godless, empty, shrine of colonialism

are and always will be,

Worth less

Less attention

Less money

Less prayers

Less hashtags

But oh God, if there was ever a way to say it

you know I'd say

Mohammed, please

Please hear me now

You, Mohamed Mattar, you matter

They all matter

And now as the River Nile runs red

And solidarity turns timelines blue

Know that we see you

And I might not ever learn the names of all of the victims but know this:

I see you

And you are worth it

More of our attention

More of our money

More of our prayers

More of our hashtags

And one day soon, I will tell my little brother

Who is but a child, still too young

to comprehend the weight of the words revolution and uprising

I will tell him That we as individuals may not have the power to change the whole world

But that there will always be power in numbers

And that when we see injustice

No matter the victim,

It is, and always will be

OUR DUTY

To try and stop it

Physically,

Verbally,

And at the very least,

In our own hearts

And I will tell my little brother, who is but a child

Still too young to fully comprehend the weight of the words murder and martyr

That whether he is ready or not

We must be ready to protect all of our brother and sisters

That every inaction is inevitably an action

That silence can be deadly

And that to simply do nothing, is to let down ones own soul

And all of humanity in the process

6/13/19

November 7th

Today I saw a blossom tree in bloom that usually only blooms in May. It was confusing, and beautiful, and such a welcome sight to see while all of its surroundings are wilting for autumn. I have decided to ask God to make me like that tree.

A thought on legacies/grandma appreciation

How grateful am I

For my grandmothers lives

To be their legacy

They, my source of inspiration

Of all things Black Woman Fly

Regality in the face of ignorance

Classic, yet never predictable

They, who drew bubble baths on weekends

And taught curriculums during the week

grandma Rhoda the smooth talker with a sharp wit

Who would never let you catch her without her face on

And Patricia Anne with the biggest heart in the world, only to be matched by her endless amounts of patience and generosity

How grateful am I

To be their legacy

To be made up of their kisses and love

their hopes and prayers and dreams

Their Thanksgiving dinners and secret recipes

How grateful am I

To have had access to such phenomenal women,

To have been shown so many secrets that only a grandmother can share

To have inherited such a legacy

Of love and patience,

and all things Black Woman Fly

How grateful am I

To Patricia Anne and Rhoda Mae

Rainy Days (prose)

On cold rainy mornings I feel like we have a lot of time. Let's just lay here a bit longer, we have time. Let's just listen to the rain a little while longer, as we drift in and out of two worlds. Let me wrap my fingers around yours just a little tighter, keep me warm, there's no rush, we have time. I like to listen to the sound of your breathing. Exhaling sighs of sadness inhaling silent hopeful vibrations.

On warm rainy days I want to sit with you by a lake. Feeling cool droplets against our skin, soaking our clothes through, no need to worry, there's no rush, we have time. We try to make out the distorted versions of our truest selves reflected in the water. I could stare all day, the air is clear there, empty. Washed clean. I breathe, deeply, trying to fill my lungs with all of the sweet scents. I am mindful of each raindrop as it hits the water. Do you hear them like I do? They are quiet, they are clear, they are hopeful. Let's just be, here, a little while longer, we have time.

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1 Like = 1 Prayer Against Desensitization (Poem)

New cause, same old effect

An instant (Dis)connect

We Pause but don’t reflect

It’s easier to reject

False words, no sentiment

Hash tags with empty text

Might share, but soon forget

REAL-ity’s hard to accept

It don’t match your aesthetic

Is change just a concept?

for our fate, prophets have wept

Prioritize, but then neglect

Life passed while we have slept

As if this debt won’t come collect

I’ll pray our quotas met

To live/life we must connect

There’s so much worth living for,

I promise you that.

And I ain’t done living yet

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Thoughts on Ghetto Appropriation (Prose)

Yeah I get it, Hip hop has saved your life too.

But dig this-
It made mine.
The congregation of ghetto gospel that I grew up with wasn't preaching to your upper middle class suburban white grandad.
It is the funkified call to those who were down and out.
Tears of rhythm and beats of blues for those who can't cry.
Yet ALL YOU DO is cry about how it should be for everyone.
(By everyone, you mean you.)
So fine, we cut you one more slice of the soul pie.
(Nïeve oversight on our part)
Because lo and behold,
While we were serving your greedy asses,
Y'all up and stole the ingredients from our kitchen
Now white boy Tom is rocking a dashiki he copped from forever21
While his girlfriend Karen flashes her new boxer braids and bamboo earrings.
All while driving down the avenue to their newly "acquired" brownstone, blasting NWA in their 2019 leased Honda Accord.
"hashtag, FUCK DA POLICE Y'ALL."
Oh wait hold up, hoooold up. Ahw Becky's offended.
(She would tweet about the shocking and unwarranted reverse racism she received, but she hasn't figured out how to type with her new Acrylic nails she just got from the Koreans up the block.)

Don't fret "Gurl", I'ma break it down for you.
See, y'all stole the ingredients, but everyone knows Karen can't bake. So y'all can steal our neighborhoods, our blocks, our homes, our music, our clothes, our accessories and our vernacular. Real talk, y'all can even steal our men. No matter how you slice that pie, it's still gonna taste like shit.
But you're starting to look a little pitiful so I'll clue you in to the secret ingredient.
It's salt.
But wait, not just any salt. This that kinda salt that comes from years of being ridiculed and mocked. A special kinda salt that was sifted from the waters my ancestors Waded in. It's a salt that was found on the street my uncle was on when he got arrested for being black and making a u-turn. It's a kinda salt that formed when it mixed with the rocks your people put in to our Hoods. A salt that comes from the tears of anger we shed when  innocent brown lives are taken away too soon.  A salt that is formed through centuries of being objectified and fetishized, yet hated and mistreated. It's the kinda salt you start sweating when you're alone somewhere and the only other person in sight is a cop.
Let's just say it ain't the kinda salt you can buy at Trader Joe's.
If you have no experience with the salt I'm talking about then listen to me closely,
THAT. SHIT. AIN'T. FOR. YOU.
Don't get it twisted, this is not a PSA solely directed at white people.
It don't matter if you're paler than a saltine or darker than midnight, if you can't relate on a personal level, I'ma need you to do us all a favor and dead all that mess quick.
You can call it "Urban aesthetic". Call it "The Culture"  but in actuality it is a fantasy. A fantasy of being Ghetto without Ghetto People's Problems. It is a fantasy of being black without the stigma and prejudice that comes with the skin tone. We aren't playing pretend with your asses no damn more.
If no one has told you yet, let me be the one to do it;
I ain't ya sis
You ain't my nigga
I don't care about whatever "Crapper" inspires you, and I care even less about your one dumb black friend who once said it ain't a big deal to them.
I'm not them, and no matter what you do, you never will be them either.
So just go on and find another culture to steal already.
How's that for woke?



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A Quick Update

Hello family!

I hope you have all been starting off the new year with love, joy, and lots of scrumptious food. This has been a very crazy past year for me and upon reflection I see that there are many things that I love to do that I put on the sidelines while tending to personal battles. This website and blog are two things that I went into 2017 very excited about, and I am sorry to have left you all hanging for so long. I intend to move forward by getting back into what I’ve wanted to do most, which is making/sharing art, and updating this blog with weekly posts. Some will be the usual updates, some might be vlogs, and some will be poetry that I’ve been compiling over the past few months. There are so many things that I've been working on and I am excited to share it all with you.

Welcome Home

First of all, welcome! My name is Nagiyd (Pronounced "Nah-jeed) but I'm often called by my nickname Naj. I created this site to have a space to document and share some of the experiences I've been blessed to come across so far.

In the past 25 years, I have lived in :

  • 4 Different countries.
  • 6 different states.
  • 18 different cities.
  • 24 different homes (that can be recalled for sure). 
  • And attended 10 different schools (11 if you count homeschooling)

The experiences of traveling around and getting to know many people from all walks of life as well as being a Muslim Afro-Latinx American, have truly shaped me in to the person I am today . It was hard for me growing up and not really seeing anyone that I really identified with especially when it came to creatives, and I am excited to see more representation nowadays. I don't have it all figured out yet(nor do I know if I ever really will), but I am working on expressing myself, however, the heck I feel as long as I feel good about it afterward. I am also not saying that I am aiming to be anyone's hero or anything, but if me talking about my life makes anyone go "ahh snap that is actually completely relatable" or my art inspires you to get out there and make your own magic, I think that could be kind of dope. Also if you find me that relatable, I love you and we should really be friends. I tend to work with a number of creative platforms like photography, writing, or several other mediums of art. This space is intended to pool all of that fun stuff together and I'm excited to share this new process with all of you! I'm thinking of it as my new creative home (that makes 25 if we are still counting) and I truly hope you come to feel the same way. This is the first home that I have built all by myself and it is an exciting labor of love. You are welcome to visit as often as you'd like while we're under construction, a lot of growing and changing shall be taking place simultaneously before we are ship-shape, and I do apologize for any weird bugs that you might come across in the meantime. If you'd like a little one on one time feel free to chat me up, my door is always open.  So with all that being said, welcome home.

Peace and love,

Nomadi Naj