“The Glass Review”

Shay

By: Saushay Douglas

Part I

Soft Words (Whispers)

While fully indulging my mind in the thoughts of the author’s, I found myself jotting down a plethora of notes as well as my own thoughts and feelings. I did not have to read the whole book to know it was GREAT (although I did). The author (Kennyrich Fomunung) undoubtedly had me at “Meet My Mind!”  

One of the many narratives I find intriguing is “The Rose That Grew From Concrete.” It simply conveys that what is meant to be will always be regardless of any doubts, because Destiny will always win! The author’s expression, “Often times the perceptions of cool are merely the delusions of a fool” in the introspective piece, “David versus Goliath: Plight of the Latter-Day Man” stands true, especially in today’s precocious society, where it seems everyone’s “constant” is constantly the same.

In the fictional narrative “The Noble King, Loyal Queen, And Lost Knight,” Kennyrich showcases an agglomeration of versatility with words in relation to movies, characters, scripture, and song. The moral to this story should be a mirror to a heap of relationships. Every woman should aspire to be and be like the Queen and every man should be as confident as the King in knowing his Queen ultimately has both their backs. I find that at times we are blinded by and in denial of the blatant potent potion called love. Unfortunately, it happens more often then we believe, accept, and realize. The author’s “Lost Chemistry”, is undoubtedly accurate as it scientifically describes how love embezzles the heart. While I was silently cheering for the dreamer to go ahead and take those steps across the water in the simply beautiful and courageous “Maiden of Mystery”, I felt every girl has been “The Girl Who Never Was!”  I remember when “When Love is Blind” was first posted on Facebook by the author. It was at that moment that I truly recognized Kennyrich’s proverbial openness/vulnerability to express something so beautiful that both men and women often overlook or take for granted. My hopelessness in being a romantic reached its peak when I read “Beyond Her Eyes” (although the author was referring to Medusa of all people).

Furthermore, in reading “Mirror on My Wall”, and “The Broken Road”, I have come to terms with the fact that I could have made better decisions concerning my own life. However, I feel more humble now and do “learn and live” as recommended by the author. Honestly, I thought I could never feel how I felt in regards to the way Kennyrich utilized words to convey such profound insights on life and its entities. But how wrong I was. His carefully crafted words catapulted my feelings to an unprecedented high!

P.S. Stay tuned for more comprehensive reviews of The GLASS…

About the Author:

Saushay Lynette Douglas is a native Houstonian born to parents, Kevin and Vicki Robinson. She graduated from Texas Southern University in the fall of 2010 with a bachelors degree in Human Services and Consumer Sciences with an emphasis in Child and Family Development . Saushay currently works at Good Hearts Youth and Family Services as a Foster Home Developer. As she advocates for both foster parents and children, she is more than determined to fulfill her purpose as a Humanitarian. You may connect with her here: Saushay Douglas

Nurture By Nature

Mother Nature Essence

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” -Mahatma Gandhi

If you want the best out of this world,

Then you’ve got to be willing to put the best into this world.

One cannot hope to sow bad seeds and reap good fruits.

Nurture the world around you according to your nature,

And see Mother Nature herself nurture your world in similar fashion.

If you give her lightning she may give you thunder,

But if you give her a little light she just might give you a rainbow.

P.S. Godspeed.

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A Secret Name

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You couldn’t spell her name without…ah never mind that cliche, just call her unique. For truly eyes have never before beheld such a mesmerizing physique. And while her physical appearance is naturally endearing, it is her mental prowess that is most positively appealing. What wonder of woman; beyond wonderful actually, the eighth wonder of the world if we’re talking factually. I met her when she was but a caterpillar, and yet I knew this was a creature I’d someday want to make my pillar. The embodiment of language, culture, and diversity, this woman’s portrait would be the envy of the Mona Lisa. It’s a privilege to be counted among her compatriots; honestly a visit with her ought to require a visa. To accurately capture her personality I’d have to commission Da Vinci to create another masterpiece. She could make your heart go to war and still manage to leave your mind at peace. I believe her favorite word is Serendipity. I do wonder, what it would take to have Webster’s Dictionary replace it with __________.

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When Love is Blind

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“True beauty is that which even a blind man can see.” -kR

On the night I lost my eyes I saw the light. In the pitch black darkness of that still night she held my hand, guiding me into the twilight as we prepared for our fateful dance under the pale moonlight. Casting shadows atop a wondrous mountain, the smile on her face I could so easily ascertain. “That’s right,” I told her. I could feel her smile and hear her gaze. My distorted sense of the different senses left her amazed. And she found herself unable to retort. Her mouth agape, pondering how this once agape love had become so erotic. How could a blind man possibly love her? How could he so willingly trust a woman he had never seen? So many questions and so few answers had left many an onlooker just as bewildered. And while this all sounded magical it was no sorcery; just a pure and innocent beauty. A simple and genuine love, a marriage of two souls converging into one heart through a shared body. Our final act was to serve as a reminder to the new hybrid human race that would emerge from the colors of the wind we would paint with our bodies as they brushed each other with different strokes; an alternating pulsating melody of the intertwining of gentle and fierce. Ying and Yang, we went out with a bang! And thence, a new universe was born. A new world would arise devoid of the differences that once burdened the eyes. No more race, color, creed. We had morphed and become one with light, nature, and God Himself. On this brand new day, our children and our children’s children would see each other as they truly were – forever blind with love.

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My Favorite Class

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She was only a stranger until I first laid eyes upon her. Impressed by her course description I decided to enroll. I then quickly moved my way up into her honor roll. And she immediately became my favorite class. I must’ve made a good first impression myself since she named me the class prefect. However, due to our natural geographic incompatibility and my financially limited mobility, I had to settle for a distance education. You know what they say about online classes, I found it so hard to focus! Seeking leverage over competing students I would’ve gladly been the teacher’s pet but this was college. So fancy, she made me trust my intuition over her tuition. Her lessons were quite expensive but worth every penny. I even applied for financial aid just so I could afford her intellectual aid. I took out emotional loans, of which I still owe the balance. I have since dropped out of all my other classes and defaulted on my outstanding loans. I pray my exes find a way to forgive me. But once you find the one for you, you’ve finally found your major. Having already changed it quite a few times, I was convinced I had at last discovered my calling. To think I started out as just a foreign exchange student who quickly became an acquaintance, who eventually became an Associate…but I messed up. I failed her! And then I became a Bachelor for it…for a while…that is, until she gave me a second chance to make amends for my bad romance. Today, I am proud to say I have a Masters in her. Soon enough I’ll be able to give her this PhD! I mean, it’s been about six years, you know! Besides, with my new-found pedigree, we both agree I’ve definitely earned THAT degree! Some tell me that it took me way too long…maybe this is true, but to each his own. It’s not a sprint but a marathon. Moreover, a wise man once told me that what matters most is not the destination but the journey. The bottom line is, I have stood the test of time and passed my final exam. Henceforth, I shall take this class every year until death do me drop out.

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Track Star

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“The woman that I would try is worth every trial that I would face.” -kR

Down in the blocks oblivious to the cheers of the crowd, he has a singular focus – win the race and earn the reward. For truly never before has such a uniquely beautiful medal been at stake. With eyes on the prize he barely notices the hurdles on the track. “Stay in your lane,” he reminds himself to run his own race. As far as he is concerned this race is his for the taking. There is no competition in the seven other lanes, because ultimately his greatest competition is the runner within.

The pistol blasts off and the other runners follow suit! Ah the anxiety of those who pursue the desires of the heart! For his part he runs with graceful strides, relatively slower albeit deliberately so. “Never let your emotions act without the benefit of reason.” By the home stretch the sprinters have grown weary, but having kept a consistent pace he’s still in good shape. As he passes the leading runner who stares at him with mouth agape, he recalls an evening chat he once had with the prize about the fable of the tortoise and the hare. As he remembers the morale of her version he smiles and says to himself, “I just finish what I start.”

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The Circle of Life

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“The difference between a man and a boy is analogous to that between a lion and a cub. One’s king, while the other plays around like he’s king.” -kR

These days I see but a jungle full of cubs posing for lions. Too many Simbas, not enough Mufasas! Oh so you just can’t wait to be king, and yet you couldn’t get your so called queen a wedding ring. First you sniffed her all around, getting her all aroused. Then you played around her, then you played around with her, then you played with her, and then ultimately you played her. Your roar was so fake, for you swore she was your only cake. But then she caught you eating quite a number of other cupcakes. And now you come crawling back to me talking about how the stakes…are so high, and you just have to have her back. Fool, you’d still have her if only you’d never turned your back on her, but had continued to have her back instead of cheating behind her back. It was your pride that was your undoing. Now you are a victim of your own wrongdoing. No son, it’s not that life is unfair, it’s just the circle of life! What goes around comes around…and now you’ve crash landed into the ground – a wounded lion. Now tell me, what hurts more – is it your heart or your pride? That’s important for you to decide. For you see, if it’s the former, then there’s hope for you yet; because while hearts may bend they can still mend if you would make amends. But if it’s the latter, then understand that no amount of flatter will help you resolve this matter. I’m afraid my own pride will not let me welcome you back into the Pride. For a lion to claim a queen he must first become a king. Until you learn that lesson my little cub, you deserve no more than those thirsty little hyenas. Remember:  In the jungle, you only reap what you sow! Now at last my dear son, now at least…you know!

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N***as ain’t S**t

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“I don’t need no man,” her unsolicited mantra would sound the alarm in our ear drums, a constant reminder to whomever was unfortunate enough to be counted among her audience, whereas our sole wish was to hit the damn snooze button. “I don’t want a man,” would follow suit, as if to properly distinguish her needs versus wants and nevertheless inaccurately disparage both as unnecessary synonyms that were not applicable to her chosen life of hermitical solitude. “Niggas ain’t shit!” Well, the n-word must’ve been used here to identify and emphasize her disdain for the alleged culprit, although this rhetoric had worn its welcome and now bordered on gross annoyance. Undoubtedly, this woman was suffering from a paralysis of the heart. Yes, she was hearticapped! Apparently, the last “nigga” had put her heart in a chokehold and strangled it, crippling whatever little love she had left. This tragedy obviously resulted in the disintegration of what was once a peculiarly strong black woman, and had replaced it with an utterly destructive black hole, capable of sucking with overwhelming gravity, even the faintest of feelings that would naturally fall upon those around her who would dare to fall in love. “Ain’t nobody got time fo that!” She would instinctively retort whenever questioned about her bitter disposition toward her male counterparts; and for that matter, all matters of the heart. No harm, no foul, she swore. Besides, all is fair in love and war. She’d become indifferent to the difference between the two. But here’s the irony of it all: One fateful day, she received a call…from her 9 year old son’s school informing her he’d been sent home for acting a fool, and coming to school…in a dress. Apparently, he’d insisted all day that he wanted to be a woman instead. As she confronted the boy when he got home later that afternoon, she looked at him scornfully and scolded, “Boy, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” A sad scene followed indeed as the young boy sobbed uncontrollably. At once overwhelmed and emboldened by his misery, the poor boy looked up at his mother pitifully. His face flooded in tears, he managed only to reply all too familiar words, “Niggas ain’t shit!”

 

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Homecoming

 

“The man who chooses to not recognize his home is worse off than the man who has no home.” -kR

My life, your entertainment. No scratch that, I prefer the term infotainment. Mine is just the story of a little drummer boy marching to his own African beat; We Three Kings conspicuously on repeat, seeking to redeem the essence of my illustrious culture in the presence of naysayers who parade about me like a conniving vulture. Yo Kennyrich that shit you wrote was dope, but behind my back they sling my name around like I was dope! Or yay, but nay I say unto thee. Between me, myself and I, there’s already a crowd of three. So please depart from me before my political correctness falls apart. Otherwise (and that wouldn’t be wise), I’d be tempted to split you like the Red Sea and leave you as alive as the Dead Sea. You dare label me naturally violent when I choose to go on a rant, and yet somehow you expect me to be so tolerant of the rampant oppression of a God damned tyrant? Ah the audacity of the ones who’ve caused us such calamity never ceases to amaze me! What’s a month to our legacy? That’s heresy if you ask me; please don’t fall for that sort of fallacy! Oh Black People! My people – once noble moors, pharaohs of ages ago haplessly reduced into mere dominoes. Our history has been a diminishing domino effect, a hallucination of sorts, closely resembling the butterfly effect. It’s like we were the weed that was smoked but never inhaled, which might explain why in this day today there are brothers like me in jail still waiting to exhale. Now I’m no Moses but I ask you Sir – Mr. Joe Schmo – let my people go! We are salt of the earth and deserve to be exalted on higher ground, not shamefully and despicably buried underground. And our bite is louder than our bark, so for your sake please do release us while there’s still room on Noah’s Ark. My life, your entertainment. No scratch that, I prefer the term infotainment. Mine is just the story of an African King, who unlike Prince Hakeem, his Coming to America had nothing to do with finding his Cleopatra. But rather, who was forged in truth to crash the Board of Chess and clean up the foul mess; not to acquire fleeting fame but to remind the black pawns that they are indeed kings and queens, just caught up in the wrong damn game! I pray this message is entrenched deep within your dome; my brothers and sisters your Kingdom awaits, so please sing along with me, “I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world that I’m coming home. Let the rain wash away all the pains of yesterday. I know my Kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes. I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world that I’m coming home.”

I Need More Ink

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Drip, drip, drip…

That is the sound of ink spilling from my veins as I clutch desperately to the reins of this flamboyant work of art, eerily similar to that of Mozart. I know Life is better with art in it, and that the earth is just “eh” without “art” in it. Staring at a blank page, seeing my reflection in its blatant nothingness; brainstorming on how to unfathomably craft some semblance of intelligence out of this most profound emptiness. Mind over matter, and I normally pay no mind to that which doesn’t matter. And yet in this peculiar moment my good old creativity is transfixed, like The Good Lord on a crucifix. For this predicament I’m afraid there is no quick fix, no red pill to awaken me from this elaborate Matrix. My mind is bleeding profusely, so much so that I cannot help but feel my aching heart cry. I find myself unable to write anymore, as if all of my ink has finally run completely dry.

Drip, drip, drip…I need more ink!

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