I'm tangled,

like the curls of my love's hair,

like a snake encharmed,

I turn and twist.


What is this knot,

this dizzy maze, this snare?


All I know:

if I'm not tangled here,

I don't exist.

#1210, from Rumi's Kolliyaat-e Shams-e Tabrizi
Edited by Badiozzaman Forouzanfar (Tehran, Amir Kabir, 1988).
Translated by Zara Houshmand

HAIR!!!! Poetry

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The Black Madonna
I find, in being Black,
a thing of "Beauty";
like a joy; a strength;
a secret cup of gladness ...
a native land in neither time nor place ...
a native land in every Black face!

Be loyal to yourselves;
your skin;
your hair;
your lips;
your speech;
your laughing kinds
are Black kingdoms,
vast as any other.

-- Ossie Davis

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