Wilson’s poems speak the reality of what he has experienced, Wilson’s poems have a special focus on social justice and change.
In his presentations, Wilson includes a poem or two to get his point across. His poems are nurturing, inspiring, and empowering and they will speak to you. Are you interested in having Wilson perform at your next event or do a poetry workshop at your school?
Below are three of Wilson’s poems for you to read:
We are living in the world of negativity.
How could it be that this is the reality?
You hold the authority, but is it worth it to belittle me and call it creativity?
Yes, you have the ability, but to be just is an activity.
Just because you have the capacity does not mean you should not practice equality.
I strongly believe that,
Just because a black man is accused of a crime does not imply that he is a criminal.
To you he might be cause that is what you learn
And you might call it efficiency but I call that deficiency
Because I know what I can do,
If you judge me not by the color of my skin, but by the content of my character.
Brothers and sisters let us begin a new chapter, faster
Because it’s darker here we cannot afford to remain in this dumpster
Never had a chance to explain myself
Because you’ve made the choice for me before I could excuse myself.
Your ignorant, you disqualified me before I could give my own testimony.
To you that’s extraordinary, but is it worth it when you are killing my destiny?
Punished without knowing what’s really said against of me
Now the whole world is shocked
She believes that is what defines me!
I try to argue back to show you that I am innocent
I improved myself to prove you wrong
But as long as the authority, and the judge are misguided and close minded
No man wins a case against his punisher.
As a result, I am separated and kept away from the rest.
Because you entitle me; dysfunctional.
In Da Camp: The story of a child named Muna
In the evening, the sunshine fades away and the shadows come about
Many of the people in the camp go to bed hungry.
As refugees returning to their homes from working all day, it is rare that a dinner is waiting for them when they arrive.
A lucky child about seven years old named Muna is running on a crooked road, rushing home because he does not want to miss dinner.
On top of many dangers that surrounded Muna, such as poverty, war, and starvation
The wild dogs near the populated camp are weak and hungry. As a result, they take advantage of children who walk alone.
Unfortunately, today Muna was not able to walk with his friends. As Muna walks home alone, he is startled by the snarling of the three wild dogs ready to tear him apart.
Tears slowly rolling down Muna’s cheeks. Out of fear his heart is pounding like a hip hop beat. Standing there in tattered clothes and barefoot, the cold eyes of the wild dogs meet his. Muna is aware of what the wild dogs can do to him.
Realizing he has nothing to lose, he finds the courage to mean-mug the wild dogs back.
In order to overcome his fear, he tells himself:
“Ubuzima bwanje bugahera!”
Which means, “this might be the end of my life!”
Muna is young, but he knows young or old does not matter, death is cold and has no eyes.
So Muna takes off running; he must do his best to out run his death.
He picks up his pace.
Fast, faster and even faster.
He feels like his heart is about to explode. It is ticking: fast, faster, and even faster.
The wild dogs are right behind him.
They too run fast, faster, and even faster because this may be their last chance to eat. (Pause)
Sensing the three wild dogs are about to attack…
Muna feels a tight grip on his shoulder removing him from his feet.
Now standing in between Muna and the dogs is a man who is scaring them away.
Muna cannot be thankful enough.
Because he is tired from running his legs are weak. As Muna staggers home, he is barely able to catch his breath.
Muna gets home just in time for dinner.
The meal is ready and the competition begins
His older siblings use their size to their advantage to eat more.
The smaller, weaker Muna cannot compete.
Because Muna did not eat enough, he is still hungry. There is no more food so he is told to drink water to hold him until his next meal.
Another day comes around and those who made it wake up driven to find something to eat for today or tomorrow.
Meals are not guaranteed, sometimes they do not exist.
Life goes on
While some die, others are born.
Muna grows up with a strong passion and strives to be thankful for what he has, because he has experienced what it means to have nothing.
Luckily, Muna’s family escapes from the refugee camp.
To Muna, his goal is to provide meals for himself and his family
His mission is to serve others and make a difference.
Brothers and sisters, today I have brought Muna with me
I am the boy Muna…(pause) I am so honored to be standing in front of you.
Cry me to bed
It wasn’t me who said, suffer while you live
It wasn’t I who uttered: I see dead people
Cry me to bed,
Cry me to bed it’ll make my day because I am afraid to say I don’t want to live anymore.
During the day, I see dead people
At night, I hear voices of dead people
Something tells me those are angels who are destined to help all people
How can I close my eyes and lose myself in my sleep when those voices make me weep rather than sing?
I loved it when I was a child
I used to pray before bed and I felt the connection with the most high
Cry me to bed,
Cry me to bed I can’t sleep, but weep as I lay down facing the empty ceiling as I question if I was meant to live.
I have lost my dreams
I have lost my freedom
I have lost myself.
My environment was never peaceful
The sound of gun shots did not awake me
As little as I was, I woke up in poverty
My family camped for awhile
You should have seen me as a child
I was cute and everyone asked for my smile.
Maybe it made their difficult days little easier
To see beauty in the midst of darkness
I’m so sorry
It wasn’t me who said; suffer while you live
It wasn’t I who uttered: I see dead people
Cry me to sleep
Cry me to sleep, and you will have my blessings
I have been traveling for too long and have seen the cold eyes of the world
You know, we are not the only ones who are suffering
Mother Nature has been in tears trying to find herself a new beginning
Animals, and all kinds of species
Trees, and all kinds of flowers
Humans of all kinds of races
All face suffering
We struggle and stumble as we try to love one another
I miss the days I used to call every guy my brother
I remember, girls loved it when I called them, sister.
I was raised to call every mom my mother
As a child, I called every dad my father
Every pain converted into a blessing because it felt good to have that connection
I thought you and I share the sameness of livelihood and it was okay to call you family.
I don’t know what changed, but I wished it to remain the same
I laughed at my pain, when I found out humans are never the same
The message hit me, as a result, the choice almost killed me. war, poverty, and starvation intervened into my blood vessel
Uhh, the blood of mankind disgust me
Its killing me softly.
I don’t understand, we are fraud as humans but who told you you were born from a demon?
Envy, hate, greed, and jealousy
You do not know what it feels like to be lonely, low and slowly being devoured by the depth of such poverty
It amazes me because everybody strives for peace, love and unity
You’d think it’d be easier to let love become our remedy.
I’m afraid a second flood might come to clean our mess
You would think the flood story, makes me proud of Noah’s family
I find it destructing, because I cannot stop thinking about those who drowned until they died
I’m waiting for better days
Holding on to that unconditional love
Love is a reflection of a wound healed
And hate is an affliction of a wound not healed.
Can you hear me now?
Will you be the change?
Come with me and let’s march on this planet as we burn our matches, fire to light our candles.
You know, everyday is a different struggle because days are never the same
But every moment we live is a gift because you do not promise to live tomorrow
I’m blessed to say I love my life
But I cannot stop asking myself; who would’ve picked it?
I cannot stop wondering; who would’ve picked it?