The waves pull at the lugs of the wind-smiling boat Where jokes are thrown, and hope of home stays afloat. But beneath the wood, in dark damp despair The souls piled in bodies in chains gasp for air. Captured in fields of butterfly-filled chanting grass Where children's smiles once lit love in these paths, Now wishing death, escape, drowning, as the waves tossed Their past away, carrying them to the land of the lost. Finally off the cramped hell of human faeces and decay, On a dais where bids are called, and theyget whisked away To serve the farm. This was freedom from seaborne pain Just to be enslaved, and cut and hurt once again. Their brothers off to Arabia, or further to the same fate Had warned of this predicament, and now they're in their state Hoping for a day when a heart is changed and the impossible Becomes blood on this continent to unhinge their shackles. *********** What's freedom? The shackles have fallen off the scars That held back my breath. Opportunity smiles the seduction of the 14th of February And I say yes, reach out, looking to a future, looking Beyond to joy, beyond death. The eagle soars to survey and seek its prey, as I ride Peacefully building a future where my kids will be eagles To pray the prayers that freed my heart, to dream the dream That Washington, Lincoln and Martin Luther King dream, and Put the whip back into its sheath. *********** But my brothers are still stuck. I watch as I soar how the nest of worms appeals to them. The chain is gone. They seek a new master to shelter them from the Predators of the world; They call to this master to take their cross, and bear It, and give them some cotton to feed their fears. Melanin comes to the table. He builds a bull of gold, and they bow. "Oh Melanin, you brought us out of the slavery in Egypt Out of the Slavery in Libya, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait Out of the bowels of the slave ships on the Atlantic, You brought us out of slavery, Now enslave us to your will. Make us wholly thine. Where you command we will go" So he did. And beautifully decorated by their bull, Now, their lives matter. (c) nyonglema
Not because of the carbon complexes that Stuck in my skin block out some rays And hide me in dark pictures or from sad days. Not because my nose is lots different from Your pointy one, my nostrils swim On my face, arms spreading at my every whim Not because of my hair, so fine it weaves Itself into landscapes of rolling hills, Or tangos as tightly as two lovers' wills Not because I'm different from you, and like him, Not because I'm not from where you are, where They don't look like me when I look everywhere. No. I matter because I breathe a breath not mine. I matter because of the will I have received Which is mine, to drive this body so a-grieved By the rain of darts that life piles on me. I matter because nobody tells me what to think Or whom to hate, carrying their lead in my heart Like Newton's hair, to folly and the coroner's cart. No. I matter because once one so crazy bore a cross That I may matter, no matter what I looked like. I matter because I can forgive and reach across. (c) nyonglema
I’m mostly skin-colour blind, but in this post I want to reflect on the struggles within the black communities.
You know that moment you have to protect your kids from some particularly mean neighbour? Well you won’t be protecting them if you did the same to them would you? The question to most blacks is: “How much do black lives matter to you?” More than your money? More than your tummy? More than playing life with that fine body? More than greed?
The title is inspired from Don Cheadle’s line : “Another Dead Niggers Association”, while talking to Kendrick on Kendrick Lamar’s hit song D.N.A. This song looks at the heritage of the black communities and the conclusion is quite poignant: “Sex, Money, Murder – Our DNA”. You can read more about it on Genius.com.
Einstein is asleep in a Bepanda rubbish heap.
Newton is learning how to swim in Soweto poop.
Shakespeare is slumped in a car with extra lead
Losing the grams he suddenly gained on a Vegas road,
Then Dumas does same: different street, same oozing scenery.
Is it a case of which or is it that each black life actually matters?
The geniuses seem to be electrons in the society’s first chapter,
Then the atom goes positive in self-wrought treachery
You took Dube for his car, Njawe for his mouth, Lumumba for his mind, Pac
For his revolution, X for his convictions, Luther for his wisdom, Sankara,
For his vision, And their names scream from an unending roster in front of Peter.
Dead Negus Association
Then our mothers turn preemptive and kill
The next Mozart for fear of hunger, dump
The next Leke for fear of parental anger.
Where are the tears in these instants where the now seems better for all?
How to un-wrench my heart when the news comes out the radio speaker,
And the souls fly around one last time before going unaccomplished back home?
The miracle of the genetic mutation that brings genius to uplift our communities mostly gets lost earlier than on the blueprint:
Each gone by a gun or its mum.
People will treat you the way you treat yourselves. May blacks love their neighbour more so that hating you doesn’t look anymore like something you taught everybody. Love black lives