I was a thought, a dream, a fish, a wing
And then a human being
When I emerged from my mother's river
On my father's boat of potent fever
I carried a sack of dreams from a starlit dwelling
To be opened when I begin bleeding
There's a red dress, deerskin moccasins
The taste of berries made of promises
While the memories shift in their skins
At every moon, to do their ripening
from the book AN AMERICAN SUNRISE / W. W. Norton & Company
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Still of Yousef Kamara from Reuters video interview with him
"Sierra Leone Gangster Leaves Streets for Life of Poetry"

"In his poem 'Rough Path,' Yousef Kamara reflects on his years selling drugs and stealing as the leader of a street gang in Sierra Leone's capital, Freetown. 'Like a traveler in a rough jungle/Self propelling all alone/Edging through danger sharper than blades/My rough path is a cracked zone,' he writes."

via THE NEW YORK TIMES
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What Sparks Poetry:
Cynthia Arrieu-King on Rainer Maria Rilke’s “The Man Watching”

"As I sat on the brick stoop reading the words, I felt a strange certainty, as if I were falling. I was hearing someone actually articulate a space for uncertainty, melancholy, and suffering that sounded current, electric. This kind of thinking is what I wanted. I had always wanted to see behind the look of things." 
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