A Day in the Life of Devs

Cocoa therapy:

Chocolate swirls and cocoa whirls,

marshmallows oozing on top,

the finest chocolate in the city

can’t replace what was lost

Outsider:

Not satisfied with the chocolate,

I open the heavy wooden door to the trendy and pricey restaurant.

All I see is a sea of white.

I am the only person of color in this establishment.

I eat the fancy pizza nervously with my head down, perusing my favorite magazine.

Recognition:

A toddler with clear blue eyes and golden hair comes up to me

“Ask the lady if she’s an attorney,” says his father.

The toddler continues to stare at me.

“She’s reading the New Yorker magazine. She must be an attorney.”

I turn to the father and explain that I’m a doctor, not a lawyer.

After they leave, I crack a smile. I love breaking stereotypes!

Maybe I was an attorney in my last life.  🙂

-devs-

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Prose for SEK

Foreign verses inundate

Arts District/Little Tokyo.

SEK is at it again.

In an ancient tongue.

Latin inspiration for an

American slogan.

“E Pluribus Unum.”

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Yet unity seems far

removed from reality.

The clash of the

rich and the rest.

Write it with chalk.

Does it make it real?

 

He moves on

to French tomes.

“Vers et Prose.”

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Foreshadowing more

verses to come.

Rebellious, no doubt.

But a source of

idealistic comfort.

Prose for prose.

I wait for more.

 

Links to SEK:

http://colorsinla.com/2014/01/29/sek-incohesive-thoughts/

http://www.kiisfm.com/pages/the-stitch.html?article=11840678

Gandhi dot

Never have I experienced oppression to the point of bloody tears

No slavery of soul, no gender or caste discrimination

Only the fleeting moments of ridicule in elementary school

Kids from Texas screaming “Gandhi dot, Gandhi dot, Gandhi dot!”

As I tried to wipe away the non-existent bindi from my forehead

My childhood tears seemed so minuscule and useless

Never have I known the imprint of British batons on my back

The darkness of a prison cell, the gnawing hunger of protest

Never have I known discrimination against the color of my skin

Tanning beds still try to achieve my gleaming brown perfection

No need to execute satyagraha, no salt marches to Miami Beach

I live in America: a world of justice, freedom, and love

I am the collective result of my ancestors’ struggles and pain

By rejecting the dharma-driven war of destruction at Kurukshetra

Experimentations with truth and non-violence left a mark

A mark created by a starving cotton-clad man, with missing teeth

A mark which inspired a Southern black preacher to seek equality

A mark left permanently and honorably on my childhood forehead