Now is the turn of Dr. Maya Angelou. She is a well-known american writter, activist and singer, who died in 2014. She decided to show her respect and admiration for Michael sending a poem about his passing to be read in the Memorial that had place at Staples Center in 2009. It was a very emotional moment and today I divulgate this wonderful poem.
Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing
Now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace
Sing our songs among the stars and and walk our dances across the face of the moon
In the instant we learn that Michael is gone we know nothing
No clocks can tell our time and no oceans can rush our tides
With the abrupt absence of our treasure
Though we our many, each of us is achingly alone
Piercingly alone
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him
He came to us from the Creator, trailing creativity in abundance
Despite the anguish of life he was sheathed in mother love and family love and survived and did not more than that
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style
We had him
Whether we knew who he was or did not know, he was our’s and we were his
We had him
Beautiful, delighting our eyes
He raked his hat slant over his brow and took a pose on his toes for all of us and we laughed and stomped our feet for him
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing
He gave us all he had been given
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana’s Blackstar Square, in Johannesburg, in Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama and Birmingham England, we are missing Michael Jackson
But we do know that we had him
And we are the world.
Michael Jackson in the early 80's. Credits to the Photographer.
This is a special post conmemorating the memory of Michael Jackson, who passed away suddenly at June 25 th in 2009. I will never forget that day and eventhough people say time cures everything and stuff, I still feel exactly the same thing. Everyday I still miss Michael, his smile, his strength to conquer the world and his dreams of peace and love remain so hard in my heart. So this week he will take over this blog and I'm posting a few poems about him, this first one was written the Concert Film Director Johnathan D. Jones, and I am adding also a video were he recites it. Thanks to the page UK LOVES MJ for divulgating this magnificent piece of art.
IDOL LOST
There I was, sitting alone atop the staircase, a waterfall of tears.
My mind zombie like, as I could not fathom what my lens had just captured.
He was beautiful - an Angel on stage - the voice of perfection.
While I withdrew from my family and the world,
I opened my eyes to imagine a genius that took me away.
Through song, through dance, with a soft tone, and a welcoming spirit,
He was me – I shadowed his life.
Certain similarities made me believe I was better than the greatest.
One that stole my soul, replaced, the figure that didn’t live in my house.
Every step precise - every move sensational –
As a kid we all believe in magic.
This magician allowed me to never grow up.
Our talents were not the same. But I studied him.
Added much of the good in him to help make me better.
He was rhythm.
Far beyond the dance I saw him change the world
As a professional child he was on the back end of the chitterling circuit.
A few years removed from colored entrances, and yet love leapt from his lips.
Cultures and races the world over sang in chorus.
He was BAD!
The 1, The only 1,
The 1 human being that I truly saw how Great God is through his warmth
I could not afford what many had the fortune to buy, and see, but I saw him-
I saw him in my dreams.
He stood just behind my eyelids.
I stood in front of mirrors for hours and hours -
Trying to look-like him - I wanted to talk like him,
For a moment I wanted to be him.
Never has anyone captured me completely.
Inspired is'nt justice - empowered by his ascend
No Prince could compare to The King’s gifts.
Entertained family, during holidays with fully imitated shows.
For just those moments I would really become him.
I grew, my gifts came in slightly different packaging, but I stole some of his wrapping.
I absorbed his will and determination for perfection to consume everything I did.
I watched, I studied, I idolized.
When he went into orbit and walked the moon, I simply sobbed.
Sat on the steps so amazed that all I could do was cry.
Imperfection is human,
So there he was, so high above that missiles had to be made up to reach him.
But he wore a glove to protect himself from the disease of hatred, and misunderstanding.
I stored all the good he shared.
Never punished him for falling.
Like a toddler who brings us so much joy, I just wanted to help him up -
Just to see him walk again
To a rich man, eating from trash is strange.
He reached a stage never, imagined, by anyone else, so to a closed minded few -That was strange.
A face -A nose -A color –
As insignificant, as a bag, holding a gift that a child has always wanted.
He was punished.
Backs turned, stories told, while people ran off with the loot.
Not I - I, idolized him.
I’d wished to talk to him.
I dreamed of looking through rare videos, and pictures, together -
So stored in my heart that one day I would open my eyes to see my dream.
But as sudden as a blink, I stood in my room as he was returned to God.
My heart ached. My one dream to share time with him, had been swept away,
or so I thought
As magical as the first moment I saw him -
It was as if he left me with a gift.
Though hard, and not the way I wanted, I had my wish.
As he laid surrounded in gold, and song -
I sat with him as rare pictures appeared across the stage
Photography from the author, taken in Chilean Patagonia.
Heaven, the place where you could be with me, but you must depart now with a fallen angel, while I'm just a wounded angel.
And there, in the country of arrows, tears and stars are sparkling like lost lights holding each other.
I hear your voice searching for answers and making dead echo in my head, wich agonizes every minute without you.
I want to leave and start another world of meadows and rainbow, but you leave me here by my own in this land, and go with her to the amazing torment.
Over my head there are a thousand tornadoes cornered from you as chained skulls. There is no turning back, I still hear your voice, it's the singing melody before going to Hell ...
And the distressing beat incinerates my sword slowly, soon I will have no weapons to fight your demons; but my face remains unveiled without the mask of hate, revenge or past, to tell you how much I need you next to me and how much I've missed all these huge years.
I'm a girl and you're already an older man, but the days don't pass for both twin souls, we are equal before the mirror that reflects the perspective of the heart.
Look at your face in the pond and question who you are, your inner voice will scream the truth.
The justice of my sickle will destroy the darkness.
Milza López, extracted from the Poisoned Arrow and other texts, 2007.
