reincarnated revolution



I can hear my ancestors heart beat in the cracks of the streets Every hym hum whip lashed fire hosed dog released can you hear the whispers in the spring breeze I hear their heart beats feet beating the streets like African drum chords of rhythmic ties tying me to my roots in spirit I am home now in Africa I have seen my first white man they have robbed me of everything I know and I found home somewhere in the middle passage my people found strength we have become stronger we are revolutionary we are lesson in your textbook a movie on your TV screen so sit back and enjoy the show as we rewrite every stereotype we are soldiers from every martin to every black panther we are rebels rebelling against an image that was not ours to own in the first place we will erase every stereotype from your canvas and show you how to make this picture beautiful with every choco mocha latte skinned girl to every tar colored boy that makes this country beautiful but you used us as foundation on which you built this country on top of I’m sorry but I don't hear you say thank you for the colored men and women who gave there lives for you who used these hands to raise you up as you used words to tear us down but with these hand we have ignited a fire that will spread with every beep it is just in that 18 year old Michael brown 17 year old Trayvon martin 28 year old Orlando barrow timothy Russel shot and killed in Cleveland police says it was self defense police said he thought their was a weapon jury says not guilty I say get away with murder I say where did you get your law degree from a cereal box?were trying ti fix the cracks in this broken system now I know that I am no martin luther king but I have a dream that statistics will no longer pave the road for colored boy and colored girls that we wont have to worry about getting shot for being black I have a dream that the closer I am to white doesn’t make me beautiful i can hear my sisters and brothers heart beat the are out soldiers our fallen warriors hollow graves fill the cracks of these streets we know these streets. these streets are starting to look oh to familiar to the slave girl in me can you see these streets looking like slave boats slave owners are starting to look a lot like the man with the badge this system is starting to remind me too much of the fields , America your starting look like the middle passage MASA doesn't it look like history repeating itself doesn’t it look like picket sign riots and sit in protest late night prayers where is your manners young blood splatter government shatter muscle tightening whip lashing painting it red with metal bullets I’ve seen this all before for …. and this is the part when the revolution begins

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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