My love, let not your heart be filled with envy;

you are eternal, they are for a time.

Would the sun arouse its passions for clouds?

Will the moon lament the brightness of stars?

Let us then quit these jealous seasons.

Let autumn boast of auburn hues and chestnut stores,

cinnamon scented candles and wine cellar doors.

Rogue fairies may dance about my hearth fire,

but only you ignite the storms of my desire.

Sunset summers encompass the soul of beauty

with waves that simmer in the heat of carnal desire.

Felines stray and wolves devour;

why cry my love?

Only your embrace holds power.

Ensconced in elegance redefined,

unparalled, unapologetic, unabashed winter suffers no quarry.

Her dignified brilliance holds much sway

while the sting of your silence leaves me breathless.

Hymns of praise are sung for gentle spring.

Renewed reverance reverberates through her lush hills

and glory rises from her valleys;

even angels name her virtuous!

All the same, my love for you remains untamed.

My beloved

My virtue of old,

My holy truth fulfilled,

Quit these jealous seasons,

Let the seasons be jealous of our love.

Is my melanin skin not enough for you? Should I dive into the depths of the Atlantic to make contact with my ancestors and let the waters that filled their lungs fill my lungs until I utter only clippped syllables that remind you of ebonics?

Do I need to sleep in the mass graveyards of my African brothers so that when I wake I would be “woke” to their struggles. You say im not black enough, but you fail to realize that the only requirement to be black is to have skin that only needs to be feathered because I already look tarred.

If I spoke like queen Victoria, was educated like Obama, dressed like Ghandi and believed like Mother Teresa, even then I would still meet the black requirement. There is culture, there are beliefs and there are actions, but there is only one requirement to be black.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she with silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” – Emma Lazarus

There are many in the United States of America that would recognize those enchanting lines that are etched on the pedestal on which stands the statue of liberty. Those somber, melancholy words seem to promise warm, love and most of all a place to call home. With unspoken vehemence they decry discrimination, prejudice and injustice. The beautiful words of Ms. Lazarus now seem to be disappearing in an unprecedented American political regime and its attack on immigrants and migration.

Throughout history, man has travelled from sea to shining sea; he has traversed over vast lands and has subdued the earth, all in name of growth, prosperity and the dream of building a better world for those he loves. Yet, more and more walls—metaphorical or otherwise—are being built to divide human beings from each other. The world looked on during America’s last election and throughout President Trump’s first year of presidency as he repeatedly said “were going to build a wall…a big beautiful wall.” This so-called wall was aimed at keeping out Mexicans, but the world understood the sub-text. The president of ‘the greatest nation on earth’ was saying, “keep your tired, keep your poor, America is an ancient land, its storied pomp is glorious,” and the citizens of the world wept. If Emma Lazarus was alive today, would she be ashamed? Would she still write her famous poem in an attempt to raise money for the statue of liberty’s pedestal?” After all, she was the daughter of Jewish immigrants and her ancestors came to America from Germany. It is important to remember that when history is forgotten, its atrocities are bound repeat themselves.

Immigration, like many others, is a controversial topic. Nevertheless, scarcely in history has there been such solidarity on the issue as to when Executive Order 13769, commonly known as the travel or Muslim ban was enacted on January 27th, 2017. Families were separated; hearts and hopes were broken as people waited at airports for the fabled golden doors to be reopened to them. Nevertheless, in the misery that lasted almost three months there was a sad beauty. This beauty was of a country rallying together to stand for justice, equality and basic human rights. Differences were forgotten, whether they be religious, racial, or geographical. During the travel ban we were all just humans. We were just souls looking for a way home.

There are many sides to immigration. One of those facets is leaving behind your family, your culture and your home. Regardless of the fact that the country might be war-torn or that there is a need for political asylum, leaving your homeland is never easy. There is massive emotional fall-out, especially if family or loved ones are left behind. Another factor to consider is having to build a new life from the ground up. Countless stories can be told through the backdrop of ancestors who migrated to America with barely any money, but by backbreaking work and sheer determination, businesses and empires were cultivated for generations to come. Movies romanticize and water down the conditions under which many immigrants—legal or illegal—live, but the heart breaking truth is that the migration process is never an easy one.

The problems of immigration are not unique to America. Across the globe, many countries are facing the same difficulties. In Europe, for example, the forming of the EU and the Schengen Area has led to large numbers of individuals relocating from one country to the next. As this occurs people are beginning to fear for their jobs and their cultural identity. In regards to the country of Guyana, the issue of brain-drain is propagated by the fact that there are more Guyanese people living outside the country than within. Simply put, immigration is a complicated topic that must be given more serious attention.

Stop and think for a moment, what would America, what would the world look like if the first settlers in America were met with fierce rejection by the Native Americans? What if they had sought refuge and had met with a travel ban, or a “big beautiful wall”? America, its values and hopes are built on the backs of immigrants. Immigration is not and should never be a cheap topic to use as political fodder. It is the hope of many of those in the world, and it deserves to be treated as such. The fears surrounding immigration and immigrants are not illegitimate. The downsides to massive influxes of people into a country are real, but they are not enough to justify hate and dissention. Hopefully, one day the world may find an answer to immigration, and I believe it will come from people of different creeds, nations and ethnicities sitting together and discussing the way forward, and not from one man in an oval office.

Taliya lay in her cage, wanting to cry. Crying of course was impossible in this form, so she did the next best thing and curled tighter into a ball. How had things gone so horribly wrong, and so quickly too? If only there was a way to just go home. Maybe the council would take it easy on her; others had failed before even in their second and third forms, surely they would understand her limitations. Hope seemed like such an easy thing to grasp, but even the Senach, her people, were not that understanding. So many people believed in her potential. Everyone said that she was destined to do great things, and Taliya herself believed it. Were they all wrong? Was she fated to fail and bring dishonor to her family?

She prayed to Sialu for assistance, he was a merciful god, but there was no answer. There had been a distance between the two of them since she began her road to ascension. Sialu had spoken to her before, it was what brought her favor among her people, yet, her own mother still hated the fact that she was born in to their lowest form. Generations had come and gone in her noble blood line without anyone taking the forth form, third and second forms we're common, but never the forth. It was a disgrace, she was a disgrace, at least in her mother's eyes. The forth form wasn't without its advantages, however. She was fast, very fast, and had the ability to jump great distances, there was also the added bonus of being able to charm and hypnotize others who were not properly trained to withstand her power. All that was useless now, failure had still come. Sialu was too far away and her mother was right, she was a disgrace. There would be no harvesting, and no accession for her, so she let herself be taken and put in a cage. She might as well be treated like a mere animal.

Failing to ascend meant that she would slowly lose her powers and eventually turn feral. If that happened, the council would sentence her to death. They could not be lenient with her, even if her mother held political power. Commoners frequently had offspring who were born in their forth form, but they were hardly ever given such an impossible task to complete ascension, and never off world.  Her life was full of the impossible, and most of them not in her favor. Her mother had strong-armed the council into giving her the harvest quest for ascension in the hopes of maintaining the family name. She knew her mother wanted to be queen, even though that would mean the death of many. Taliya was at her breaking point. Her mother would never get to see her ascend and she would die without knowing her mother's love. She squeezed her eyes tight and her heart constricted painfully.

Time passed away, but there was no way of  knowing how long it was before she felt a familiar pulse in her front paws. It had happened before, but each time her beloved had not been nearly turned on for her to locate him. Ignoring the pulse, she continued to lay there. This time, something unexpected began to happen, something that had never happened before."Oh Sialu! ...he must be close" she raised her head and looked out the he cage. There he was, her beloved. He turned to her when the woman he was with pointed to her cage. She stood slowly not believing how blessed she was, Sialu was indeed merciful. Distance prevented her from completing the link she needed to form with him. she would have to bring him to her a different way. She looked into his eyes, almost getting lost herself, and began to wave her tail back and forth, slowly seducing him. He turned away from her and placed his hands in his pockets, but his scent filled her and she knew it was a success. He was aroused, and he would come back to her. Her heightened sense of hearing allowed her to tune in to his conversation with the woman who had called him Ezra. "Ezra, such a strong name. He'll make a fine harvest." Looking on a bit longer, she could tell that Ezra had feelings for this woman, this Rumi. Feelings of jealousy and rage rolled beneath her fur, how dare this weakling touch him, Ezra did not belong to her and the Senach did not share their beloved. Rumi had to separated from him, and soon it would be a pleasure to make her do so. Ezra seemed distracted when he turned back to her watch her cage, then he walked away.

Plans began to formulate in Taliya's head as she circled in her cage. She had finally found her beloved and not a moment too soon. There was only a week left before the harvest needed to be completed and the council would call her home. Perhaps she should leave her cage tonight and find Ezra tonight, she had his scent now, he would be easy to find. That was a bad idea though, human males did not normally take stray cats into their homes, and he could always return her to the store. Hypnotism was too unpredictable to rely on. No, he would have to come to her willingly, and then she could make her move. Patience was not one of her strong points, but she knew she had connected with him and the connection would draw him back to her, hopefully soon.

Ezra stopped to pick up his apartment keys which he had just dropped for the third time on one of his usual jaunts down Kingsley boulevard. He decided to put it in his pocket this time, rather than swinging it idly as he conversed with his friend Rumi about his latest gig. Rumi had apparently lost interest in stopping every fifteen minutes while he retrieved his keys and she now stood on the corner between a tree and the local pet store. The waning sunlight streamed through the trees and rested on her body, encasing her in an angelic glow. Her auburn hair lit up as it blew in the breeze and her blue Levi's jeans clung to her curvaceous thighs. That image, combined with her flowing sleeveless blouse made her seem ethereal.

"Of all the days to leave my camera home, today had to be one of them." Ezra thought.

He then noticed Rumi uncharacteristically staring at the pet store window, an action that drew his curiosity.

"Rumi, what are you staring at ? Don't tell me you're a pet person now..." he asked as he approached her, a small smile creeping onto his face. Rumi turned and gave him a smile that made his breath hitch in his throat. Her teeth, perfect and white, her lips thick and luscious,  always had that effect on him.

Without missing a beat, Rumi replied,"Don't be crazy, you know I can't take animals. Besides, I'm too selfish to take care of a pet," She hesitated before continuing. "But if I had to, I'd buy that cat right there..."

Ezra turned from Rumi and looked in the direction she pointed in. He then gazed intently at the most beautiful cat he had ever seen. It had green almond eyes, a beautifully spotted coat, and a tail that was at least an inch and half too long to be normal. On any other day, he would be known as a dog lover, but today...today was different. Ezra felt such a strong connection to this cat, almost like she called to him. Her almond eyes gazed intently into his and she stood when she saw him, waving her tail, back and forth, hypnotically. Her overall visage was so striking that for the second time today, Ezra chastised himself for leaving his camera at home.

"Oh Ezra, isn't she beautiful, I could stare at her all day..." he heard Rumi say, as her voice penetrated his daze. This time, however, he did no turn to look at Rumi, but he felt her arms wrap around his. He also felt his crotch tingle and his underwear begin to grow. Not wanting to be embarrassed, he turned away from the cat and moved away from Rumi.

"Yeah...me too, she's gorgeous," he said, his voice a pitch too high. He coughed as shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You know Ez, it's been a while since you've been on date, I think that Persian Mau is just the kind of girl for you. It looked like you too shared a love connection..." Rumi joked as she elbowed his side.

"Hah! Very funny RuRu, I'll date the cat when you marry a dog. How do you know it's a girl anyway?" returned Ezra.

"Oh please, all you men are dogs, I'll have to marry one of you eventually. As for the cat, just call it a woman's intuition. Anyway, this is where I leave you, I have work to catch up on, I'll see tomorrow for lunch. We should do this again soon, I enjoyed this little Sunday stroll..." Ezra felt his face break into a wide smile, a smile that was reflected on Rumi's face.

"Yea, it was fun, maybe next two weeks..."

Ezra was a little caught off guard when Rumi leaned in to hug him, but he quickly caught up. "Later Ez."

Just like that Rumi crossed the road and was gone too soon. Ezra turned back to look at the cat, who was still staring at him, its expression had somehow changed, and it seem to be a little rankled. "Hmmm, why are cats so moody" he thought to himself, then turned to walk back home. 

That night Ezra had a fitful sleep. He tossed and turned, feeling unusually turned on for no reason. He thought about his walk with Rumi and saw flashes of her face as she stood in front of the pet store. He also thought about the Egyptian Mau and what it would be like to stroke her glossy coat. With that thought, his erection pulsed, and Ezra groaned in frustration. It had been too long since he had sex, even pretty cats had started to turn him on. He chuckled at the thought and decided to get out of bed and look through his photography portfolio; sleeping was definitely not going to happen anytime soon. As he browsed through his previous works searching for inspiration he heard Rumi's voice in his head, "Oh Ezra, isn't she beautiful, I could stare at her all day..." Ezra knew what to do now, and with that thought, his eyes started to get heavy and he crawled back into bed, there to enjoy one of his last nights of peaceful rest.

Hey mister,

You wanna touch me?

Daddy and brother touched me...

It only hurt a little bit

I only cried a little bit,

I'm a big boy mister,

I'll let you touch me,

They gave me candy,

tasted like flesh

You got candy mister?

I'll let you touch me.

I discovered Me.

In pages written in tears,

In words that craved approval,

In heartache and desperation,

In a shattered mirror,

and an empty room.

There I was...

Unbroken, 

Courageous,

Beautiful.

Jack moved his pawn forward as he played chess with his latest victim. After spending weeks learning his prey's habits, it turned out that chess was this one's idea of a sport. Joining the local chess club had allowed him to ingratiate himself into the victims life, effectively starting a cascade that would end in certain death. Knowing that there was a connection between predator and prey added some level of comfort that made the kill feel more natural. It was imperative that IT liked him. Referring to his victims as IT was one of his rules, one of many, because the secret to murder was deceptively simple. It all boiled down to organization; organization was key. Add a splash of creativity and you had yourself a hobby for life.

His first kill was the pet cat, in the kitchen, with a blunt knife. It had destroyed his birthday cake and his favorite toy. A primal scream of rage erupted from his mouth as he stabbed it multiple times and cut off its head as if to add a full stop to an otherwise gory sentence. Killing was an orgasm of power, a high that made him an immediate addict. The aftermath was a symphony of bloody chaos, but he stood there... staring and enjoying his revenge. Getting caught wasn't part of the plan, but copious amounts of blood on a child usually made any mother panic. Part of him hoped that the years of therapy he was subjected to following the incident would have helped to suppress his urge to kill... they didn't. Killing human beings now gave him a feeling of unrivaled euphoria.

Now he sat in IT's apartment, an open plan studio with minimalist furnishings. The walls were painted pale green and the sofas were an awful shade of yellow. On a side table sat a picture of IT and a woman. There was a kitchen island that would offer the perfect setting for the operation.The was very little chance of being interrupted as his victims girlfriend had gone out of town and it was late enough that no one would stop by. Choosing this particular IT was rather easy. He chose the number thirteen, a symbolic number representing this next catch. The thirteenth floor of a building that was thirteen blocks from his apartment. Located on the thirteenth floor was Harrison and Ford's law firm. The thirteenth person who walked out of Harrison and Ford's , he would kill.

This round, he decided to play a real life game of doctor, removing one organ at a time and seeing how long he could keep death at bay. Various scalpels and a few blood bags were in his backpack just in case. Hopefully his research was sufficient enough to make his kill entertaining. He spiked IT's beer with two flunitrazepam, or roofie as they commonly called it and twenty six minutes later IT was on floor, unconscious. He checked for a pulse to establish a baseline.

With his victim laid out on the kitchen island, he first removed a hand, then used a torch and gauze to stop the bleeding, repeating the motions on the other hand and feet. He moved up to the knees and shoulders and sawed off the remaining appendages from their joints. IT almost died at this point but he managed to keep it breathing. By the time he got to the chest he could barely feel a pulse and not too long after opening the chest, IT died. Apparently he must have hit an artery or something because he was showered in blood like a parody of bloody marry, he had to laugh. Three hours of life wasn't bad for a first timer. Despite the death, it would be a waste not to continue the game so he removed the heart, then the liver, and finally the kidneys. Everything just looked too shredded to care about after that and besides, four hours of fun was enough to satiate him.

He didn't bother cleaning up the apartment, the girlfriend would be coming home tomorrow anyway. A quick call ensured that he had an alibi and he meticulously removed any evidence that could link him to the crime scene. Changing out of his bloody clothes he cleaned his face and hands, donned a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, and promptly left through the back door of the building. Arriving back at his apartment, he soaked his clothes in acid, took a shower and sat in front of the television with a sandwich. A sigh of contentment escaping his lips.

Jack moved his pawn forward as he played chess with his latest victim. After spending weeks learning his prey's habits, it turned out that chess was this one's idea of a sport. Joining the local chess club had allowed him to ingratiate himself into the victims life, effectively starting a cascade that would end in certain death. Knowing that there was a connection between predator and prey added some level of comfort that made the kill feel more natural. It was imperative that IT liked him. Referring to his victims as IT was one of his rules, one of many, because the secret to murder was deceptively simple. It all boiled down to organization; organization was key. Add a splash of creativity and you had yourself a hobby for life. 

His first kill was the pet cat, in the kitchen, with a blunt knife. It had destroyed his birthday cake and his favorite toy. A primal scream of rage erupted from his mouth as he stabbed it multiple times and cut off its head as if to add a full stop to an otherwise gory sentence. Killing was an orgasm of power, a high that made him an immediate addict. The aftermath was a symphony of bloody chaos, but he stood there... staring and enjoying his revenge. Getting caught wasn't part of the plan, but copious amounts of blood on a child usually made any mother panic. Part of him hoped that the years of therapy he was subjected to following the incident would have helped to suppress his urge to kill... they didn't. Killing human beings now gave him a feeling of unrivaled euphoria.

Now he sat in IT's apartment, an open plan studio with minimalist furnishings. The walls were painted pale green and the sofas were an awful shade of yellow. On a side table sat a picture of IT and a woman. There was a kitchen island that would offer the perfect setting for the operation.The was very little chance of being interrupted as his victims girlfriend had gone out of town and it was late enough that no one would stop by. Choosing this particular IT was rather easy. He chose the number thirteen, a symbolic number representing this next catch.  The thirteenth floor of a building that was thirteen blocks from his apartment. Located on the thirteenth floor was Harrison and Ford's law firm. The thirteenth person who walked out of Harrison and Ford's , he would kill. 

This round, he decided to play a real life game of doctor, removing one organ at a time and seeing how long he could keep death at bay. Various scalpels and a few blood bags were in his backpack just in case. Hopefully his research was sufficient enough to make his kill entertaining. He spiked IT's beer with two flunitrazepam, or roofie as they commonly called it and twenty six minutes later IT was on floor, unconscious. He checked for a pulse to establish a baseline. 

With his victim laid out on the kitchen island, he first removed a hand, then used a torch and gauze to stop the bleeding, repeating the motions on the other hand and feet. He moved up to the knees and shoulders and sawed off the remaining appendages from their joints. IT almost died at this point but he managed to keep it breathing. By the time he got to the chest he could barely feel a pulse and not too long after opening the chest, IT died. Apparently he must have hit an artery or something because he was showered in blood like a parody of bloody marry, he had to laugh. Three hours of life wasn't bad for a first timer.  Despite the death, it would be a waste not to continue the game so he removed the heart, then the liver, and finally the kidneys. Everything just looked too shredded to care about after that and besides, four hours of fun was enough to satiate him.

He didn't bother cleaning up the apartment, the girlfriend would be coming home tomorrow anyway. A quick call ensured that he had an alibi and he meticulously removed any evidence that could link him to the crime scene. Changing out of his bloody clothes he cleaned his face and hands, donned a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, and promptly left through the back door of the building. Arriving back at his apartment, he soaked his clothes in acid, took a shower and sat in front of the television with a sandwich. A sigh of contentment escaping his lips.