KUMAR LEWIS

An ambassador for peace and love...

HE’S MOVING ON

A poem written for Kumar (a snapshot of his life) by his uncle upon his graduation with honors from University of California, Santa Cruz – 2000.

Yes, he’s moving on
Been a little self
Centered in a way
Suckin’ up attention
Cryin’ on the apron
Mother’s rapt attention
Slippin’ out the door
Yes,
He’s moving on

Yes,
He got the grades
Always had a job
Ran with the good kids
Homies on the block
Always loved his family
Surely fed the cats
Holding mother’s hand
Yes,
He’s moving on

On the college scene
Saw the people
Studied injustice
Heard life’s edge
Hard
Its sharpness and its slice
Where the nets are gone
The bets are off
Guard rails missing
Training wheels too
no condoms protecting In the night of life
Yes,
Time to move on

On to the world’s stage
Action
Where dreams become real
And feelings move
From heart to hand
Mouth to foot
Body moving
Wild and uncertain lifelines
Connecting Heaven
to earth and back again

Yes, he’s moving on
The young Turk ready
Poised
Pumped
On the precipice standing
Ready to spring
Dive
Chance a risk
Write a poem
Take the plunge kicking
Swimming
Floating
Screaming
Loving
Learning
Just what it is to be
Human

Yes,
He’s graduating with honors
With love
A great bon voyage!

Kumar, all of us in Arkansas are so proud and love you:  Uncle Moshe, Aunt Hamsa, Cousins, Ananda, Hari, and Lawrence.

UPRISING

The following is a poem written by Kumar to his uncle, Moshe, in response to one he received from him.

The lion’s heart weeps
And sadness surrounds him
Caught in his bushy mane
The scent of the city

He does not rear his proud chest
The chains oppress him, pinching bruising
His eyes fixed upon walls of racism
Surrounding his world
Trapped in Babylon on display

Tears leak through the slick fur
Dripping honey gold
A legacy of proud people torn from his heart
Salty sweet food for the greedy

There is no pride without a homeland
So he dissolves into foreign self pity, a tainted shame
Muscles softening, reflexes dying
He forgets the hunt and
Eats the flesh they throw to him

He has no real brothers and sisters
In this artificial patch
A common experience molds them together
Yet the real family remains
Ripped apart and dying
In a shrinking homeland
Covered with dry blood and land mines

He walks the streets of this concrete jungle
An acid rain forest, eating away his strength
Pulling him into the sewers surrounded by drugs
He bathes in the filth of a rich nation
Build on his back

Mama Africa, call back your children
Rescue them from this societal zoo
Wipe away the lawyers of force-fed shame
Bring back that golden pride
And let them roar and slash their teeth
Gripping the neck of Babylon
Claws sharp and deadly

Let the true Kings and Queens retake their thrown
With an uprising that shatters the system
And leaves the plump white man
To choke on his own greed
The world will hear them
Roar once again
RASTAFARI!!!
Revolution has come

Kumar Lewis   - Sunday, November 12, 1995

Kumar further writes about the poem:………..

“I wrote this poem to try and capture the feelings I have about the shameful situation our society has forced African Americans to live under.  I also was trying to put into words the strong almost religious feelings I have about Rastafarianism, Reggae, Rhythm, and Africa.  I really like this feeling that soaks up my soul when I am in that trance whether it be listening to Reggae or drumming or just meditating and reflecting on this society and my life in relation to it……”

A TRIBUTE TO KUMAR

Dearest Kumar, the ultimate hedonistic altruist, an oxymoron that you manage to pull off without hypocrisy.

Kumar, a yellow-haired quasi-Rastafarian, albeit minus the requisite cloud of smoke as a consequence of life on board.

Kumar with the hands of David, strong and graceful, holding your sea green Peace Boat notebook with your bear kanji on the back the way Michelangelo’s creation held a stone.

Kumar, who can guffaw like no other; drumming isn’t the only way you make music!

Kumar, inventor of the legendary walrus game-- that you imported to the Topaz as an after-dinner game with Kristin.

Kumar, playing your drum with such passion that your head turns to your right and your lower lip curls in so the tuft of hair above your chin sticks out.

Kumar, energy normally running on high, but with even more exuberance after playing soccer with immigrants in Marseille.

Kumar, in one of your most heroic moments, you one-armed it up the side of the dock in Singapore after you got off the 47th Simply unbelievable!!

Kumar, a gracious human, becoming even more gracious when speaking formal Japanese, holding your mouth tightly.

Kumar, we shared sleeping quarters in a Roman hotel and in an outdoor hammock in Morea so comfortable to be near your athletic body.

Kumar, always bringing your coffee maker to breakfasts, the best of which were spent gossiping just the two of us on sunny days when we arrived in a port.

Kumar, the giver of some of the most regal hugs I’ve ever received, presiding in purple over the Alphabet Prom as King Kumar.

Kumar, wowing us with stories of taking your surfboard on early-morning train rides across Tokyo to the beach. You were thrilled to find out the man we called bon-a-potato was a surfer from Miyazaki, and kept the GET meeting overtime with your discussion of surf spots.

Kumar, you wrote a recommendation to help get me into business school; I owe where I am to you. At just about the time you arrived in Kenya, I opted out of a summer internship with the UN in Nairobi in favor of one in Amman, Jordan, a place we visited together on the 45tha place you were lucky enough to stay a few days extra with Global University.

Kumar, your emotions were so pure and obvious- a truly endearing quality in such a loving person. This makes me wonder what you displayed when you were shot through the source of your emotions. The only tragedy that could approach that of your early death is that such a peaceful soul is now associated with one of the most violent, inhumane forms of killing imaginable.

Paige Dobkin  email: paiged22@mac.com

Posted 3/22/06

A Poem for Kumar

          Best I sit
          here in
          silence
          if I ! must be
          without you.
          For I can still hear
          your voice
          and see your smile
          emanate through the sky.
          For it is a beautiful day when
          I can understand
          that life is so precious
          that seconds are heaven
          hours happiness
          that life be so giving.
          And what a pleasure it has been
          to have touched your hip
          and known your mind
          to have laughed loudest
          With you.
          Best I sit
          here
          thanking life
          for you
          those seconds were heaven
          these hours
          happiness
          as I can open my eyes to see
          and watch
          your beautiful sky.
                                          

  Love Audrey Howatson        email:

Posted 3/17/2006

KUMAR

Redemption Poem

Kumar
The words don’t come
The words just don’t come
What comes to me is your face
The thin curvature of your grandmother’s lip
I see you in a dream
And reach
My hand to touch your smile
And wake
From some kind of illusion
A crazy notion that tells me you’re gone
And you greet
Me
With a smile that both our laughters fill
That void of fear
That doubt
That uncertainty
That separates
Us
From what’s so
So what if it’s not the same
The plans we had
Linking
Connecting
Sharing notes
Perspective
Views and words
With metaphors of what we know in our soul’s heart to be
True and right

Kumar
The words don’t flow
The words just don’t flow
What flows to me is your rhythm
Pat
Patta pat pat
Patta patta pat
Pata pat
And so it go
Flesh on hide
Strung tight
Pulled taught
Repeating
Resounding
Reverberating in a string of slaps
Rolls
Hits
Pats
And wales yes you do Kumar
Djembe sound
Waking slumber from its sleep
Peeling back the night
Exposing parts of who
And what we are
You are the keeper of soul
The exerciser of spirit
Redeemer of love
Gone too far from the touch of day-to-day
Ya know?

Kumar
The words don’t fly
The words just don’t fly
What flys in my face is your spirit
Adventure
Driven
Like ancestor Meriwether hoisting your sail
Breeze thirsty
Anticipating the fresh and the new
Like a freedom banner
The wind of relationships blowing hard from the stern
It’s a tail wind alright
With your eyes focused
You see the path
Wisdom is your sign
Invisible
Jah guiding you
Through mines of conflict
Pot holes of negativity
Sink holes of despair
Flap
Flap flap
Flap
Steer hard Kumar
Hold a tight rudder
Steady as she goes
No one really knows beneath
Your light heart
Fun loving easy
Happy go
Lucky way that’s not so easy
But always making us
Laugh
Always making us
Feel
Good about ourselves dear Kumar
Near you the world was a kilowatt bulb
A bright spot
Glowing orb
Beacon we always hoped in our dreams it would be
Real
And it was Kumar
Kumouth
Kumy
You are that beacon
Light blazing
Ball of fire
The very best of what we are
Your life was a comet
White
Hot like Bob Marley
Black
Rhythm in your soul
And fingers
And shoes
He’s got rhythm on the soles of his shoes
He’s got rhythm on the soles of his shoes
Mama Africa
You’re free
Free from your bones
Free from your sinew
Free from your flesh that kept us fed but kept you
Captive
Captive in a body that was bursting
Bursting at the seams with a greener riddim
Play Kumar Play
Play your drums
The angels will dance and sing
Tonight
In the Kingdom
In the Queendom
You make heaven and earth roll with your laughter
Yes, prince
Now your are a king
Truly
A king
We will never forget
We will never forget

Moshe Newmark, Kumar’s Uncle on the occasion of Kumar’s memorial 4/11/06