Spoken Word

Spoken Word

Sunday, January 12, 2014

On being called the N' word…almost

Hold that thought!
that thought peering from your eyes,
that thought that perspires,
your surprise!
Contain that thought,
that thought swimming 
through your mouth,
that thought strangling
you with doubt,
Catch that word!
that word flying in my face,
that word that's escaped
your lips in haste.


Now in fact you've pulled a trigger,
of a shotgun in my brain,
anger's shooting from my temples,
anger's bursting through my veins,
and urge oils my joints,
that my patience can't restrain,
I'm living four-hundred years of oppression,
and you are bearing blame,
my pores perspire torture,
my limbs instigate maim.

My ancestors free beside the Congo,
were suddenly put in chains,
my nerves begin to thunder,
my tear ducts threaten rain,
and my spirit becomes a storm,
that no dam can contain,

I see you as a baby,
a mere child in your prime,
and I as mother Africa,
chastising your naughty crime,
I see you building fires,
in the midst of an icy brine,
while Africans in Southern Africa,
were digging copper mines,
and Blacks in upper Egypt,
were building immortal shrines.

All over Western Africa,
learning centers thrived,
Sankore arose and Djenne,
and Mansa Musa arrived,
on the throne of Songhay,
while Europe's books were shut,
and Greece prohibited learning,
and Rome the question, "what?"
As you burned books,
so nobody could read the pages,
and blindly stumbled through the Dark Ages!

You stumbled through the gloom,
from the Caucasus to Spain,
we healed your deadly wound,
and lit your path again,
and now you call me nigger 
a byword I despise,
I can feel the  fearful envy,
oozing from your eyes,
I can see the ignorance
that you hold inside,
so my anger turns to tolerance,
and my pain turns into pride!

victori~ sometime in Feb 1997 ©

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