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Ashwin Kumar Jan 26
This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
The day on which we became a Republic
Thanks to the guiding light
Of Babasaheb Dr. B.R.Ambedkar
The Architect of the Constitution
And the True Father of the Nation
If it were not for the great leader's efforts
In creating such a precious document
Many of us would have been denied
Our basic rights and freedoms
There would have been no equality
Many of us would have been languishing
In the gloomy confines of Tihar Jail
In fact, many of us
Wouldn't even have had the chance to live!

This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or, is it really?
Today is the day
On which we take the pledge
To follow and protect the Constitution
But do we really follow it?
Is there really equality everywhere?
Is everyone getting their basic rights?
Are we really a free country?
Is our human rights record
Really something to be proud of?

This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or, is it really?
If Dr. Ambedkar were alive today
He would have been speechless
With sheer shock and outrage
At the way in which
Our Constitution is being misused
Whether it be innocents languishing in jail
Or the atrocities inflicted by the trigger-happy police
Or arbitrary bills being passed
To benefit the rich and the powerful
Or people being denied a chance to love
Because they belong to different religions
Or an entire state being trapped and besieged
And cut off from any kind of communication whatsoever
And of course, casteism in a myriad variety of forms
At each and every level, whether overt or subtle
The list goes on and on
With no end in sight

This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or rather, supposed to be
In reality, a very sad day
We are cowards at heart
We wear our patriotism on our sleeves
We scream from the rooftops
India! India! India!
But we never question injustice
The sheer injustice perpetrated on a daily basis
On many of our brethren
Especially the marginalised communities
They are also equally patriotic
But we deny them the chance
To even share the stage with us
Till we, the privileged majority
Acknowledge our complicity
In all the injustice and inequality
And start making amends
In action, not mere words
There is no point in celebrating Republic Day
Dedicated to the privileged majority of India (myself included!) on the nation's 72nd Republic Day.
Rosebud Oct 2020
The house ***** or the field ***** which one would you choose?. Is it the Uncle Tom or the Rebel, pick one they’re ain’t no in-between, no win or lose, ain’t no debate so you can’t refuse. 1963 brother Malcolm X sparked this topic in our community that exposed two different worlds. A tragedy hidden yet highlighted within blackness just like the massacre in Tulsa where everything around the people burned. Sit back and observe the two *****’s I’m about to discuss make sure you take it in and learn.

The house ***** lived close to his *****, wore his clothes and ate his food. The blue eyed peckerwood the house ***** would worship more than the Almighty, a saviour he was viewed. You see ******* up to ***** was mandatory but picking cotton wasn’t on their mind because they were too busy selling out their own to the devil, no pointy horns or red tail just a blue eyed demon even in the sun their skin would still be pale. The lighter the woman the more she could get close to the ***** as her skin reflected his. As the black woman laid on her back ***** would violate her womanhood whenever he pleased, his load he would unpack in her.  Her melanin no more as he would fill her up with crack, even though she would lay ever so still but clearly in discomfort she knew she was living in a house with someone who could shower her with gold plaque. It didn’t matter if ***** seed would spread and she would then be with child. No amount of whiteness could save the baby's fate from *****’s wrath as he would feed the infant to gators and make the mother watch. So rather than protest she would be showered in jewels more so pearls, *****’s wife would shame the black woman for her ***** curls and make her cover her hair with a head wrap but that didn’t stop ***** from straying. The house ***** tends to feel like the white man’s equal, becoming an informant always running back to ***** to tell on their people, regardless if a black man was going to get hanged by noon or a black woman was to be stripped and whipped by the moon or if ***** was set out to **** the child  soon.

The house ***** didn’t care it wasn’t them because they had an understanding with their ***** an unbreakable bond, but in all actual reality ***** didn’t care about the Uncle Tom *****, the white man was the pied piper playing his flute so the ***** had no choice but to dance around like his pet, no longer black but a ****. A lot of them are shown throughout history causing their own people misery just for the sake of security. Like Kanye with the president, Samuel L Jackson in Django with Monsieur Candy, Stacey Dash with her shambles look how these whitey’s made those *****'s an example turning them into samples. Race couldn’t be replaced; they were lost before Jordan Peele made The Sunken Place because their ***** brainwashes them into thinking they can walk at  the same pace.

The field ***** like Dr King had dream prayed to either God or the ancestors for their *****’s death. If they gathered enough strength from when their courage was beat down they could circle around this demon and watch him breathe his last breath. The field *****’s would get together and talk in secret codes about their freedom. But for some reason freedom for this ***** was treason so every Sunday the story Moses and the book of Exodus were erased so they wouldn’t get any ideas of escaping, yet that wouldn’t stop the *****’s hunger, apetite or cravings. I agree that a field ***** was true to his word but running was never his guarantee to his freedom, because once you were caught you were sent to the hanging tree. Strung up by the neck watch how they struggle to breathe and their eyes begin to fade or the white man could test their humanity make the field ***** afraid ultimately telling the ***** to make a trade your genitals or your foot go ask Kunta Kinte I’m sorry my bad I meant to say Toby because not only would they disfigure your body and break your soul but they will erase your true name.

A lot of them are shown in history. Martin pulled up with peace, killed. “By any means necessary” Malcolm said then bullets went flying, he was then deceased. Black people are constantly annihilated like cattle by the KKK now the police but the truth is the system is so corrupt that they’ve never pointed out that the two groups I’ve just mentioned have always been the same.

The house ***** or the field ***** which one would you choose? One takes all the abuse and the other one stays getting used. Even today both held in chains suffering from the hands of their *****’s  like I said in the beginning there is no win or lose, so I ask again who would you choose?.
inspired by Message To The Grassroots a public speech delivered in 1963 by Malcolm X.
Artem Mars Sep 2020
We hexed the moon
We burned downtown
We killed Carlos
We started a plague
We started riots
We almost started a 3rd war
We protested and got shot
We killed our year
We said it would be better
We lied and broke it
We tried and failed it
And now I'm sick of resentment
But we can improve it
It's been quite a while since I wrote something but I'm back for a bit :)
Beware of Vipers
Although they
may
strike
Venomously
Low-key
Will spit their
poison
Out
with open mouths
Proud
Showing teeth
Yet I purposely forgot
to call'em
Fangs
Because they ain't
showing me
A Thang
Never pledged
Alleigence
to a Click
Crew or a
Gang
It's all the same
Nothing but
sneaky
Snakes
in the grass
I guess.. I place the
Blame
On the Streets
While harboring
Regrets
and threats from
Police
But Hey
Not me
For I remain
Seperated
from each
For a
Hard Head
leads to an early
Death bed
So as for me
That's just too
Harsh
of a lesson to learn
Yo I rather
Teach
I want to elaborate when I say.. I place the blame on the Streets. Now normally when a son or a daughter has strayed away from the right path, we would blame the parents, seeing how they are solely responsible for the upbringing of that child. But in the many cases such as this were the parents are not in the picture, or have failed in raising that child?
Then I feel that the blame has to be shared or carried over to whomever or whatever has contributed to, or has taken their place.. Just saying
Prequel to " Blood Crips N Unity "
monique ezeh Sep 2020
thinking about how cops are beating protestors senseless not even 20 minutes from where i live.
thinking about how they block off the streets and stand unmasked, batons in hand, other hand resting pointedly on their gun.
thinking about how it could be me next— another unspecified black face and black body and black existence snuffed out— a hashtag, a mural.
          (and those are the lucky ones.)
thinking about how a memorial is the best case scenario for a black life.
thinking about the bodies in the street.
thinking about blood splattering the ground, mixing with paint and obscuring the “black lives matter” lettering on the road.
thinking about the chalk art and loud music in a neighborhood soon-to-be-gentrified.
thinking about how we’ve grown used to the stench of rotting flesh outside our doors.
thinking about the taste of blood in my mouth from my nearly-severed tongue i didn’t realize i was biting.
thinking about the tension in my neck and jaw.
thinking about the way my eyes never seem to close.
thinking about the eyes that will never again open.
thinking thinking thinking.
thinking.
freddi Jun 2020
i find it incredible
that you can look me dead in the eye
ignoring my dead comrade
and talk about the justice in this country
when the judge, jury, and executioner of the blacks
sits in the executive branch, alone
brandishing their badge
retrofitted to read "officer"
rather than "slave catcher"
and truth is framed as false
against their flimsy fabrications of innocence
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can be surprised by those boys in blue
beating our black skin blacker 'n' blue
'till red runs down our cheeks like tears from our eyes
so used to witnessing this onslaught of slaughter
that we can't cry tears half the time
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can honestly ask me
"how could this happen?"
as i fail to find footing
on this razor thin line
between being blinded by tears
trembling with grief, anger, and fear
and being so numb i can't speak
feeling like a monster for a lack of reaction
to the atrocities i have to witness
i've found a happy-less medium
and must be content to remain numb with rage
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can graciously remind me not to forget white and blue
while i scream into the void that i matter, too
unless, of course, i happen to be brandishing a hairbrush
or somehow disrupt your white life
then you quickly affix an asterisk to the word "all"
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can proudly proclaim your allyship
and in the same breath explain how
that black was a criminal
but i'm one of the "good ones"
because i'm not ghetto
and conditioned code switches into my DNA
so i'm not a threat unless i ask you to reel it in
and just possibly stop saying "******"
it triggers panic and makes me sick
when it falls from your pale lips
yet i stomach it and swallow my anxiety
sitting with a twisting gut in your presence
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you seem to have this superpower
pulling you from awareness into blissful oblivion
that i can only imagine
because your life's not on the line
that amazes me
these are the types of fake allies and subtle racists that i've encountered. here's a quick poem to them
Godfrey Ndlovu Jun 2020
From off the pores of pitch-black skin,
Floyd's soul saps aways,
Little by Little,
One last time
One last effort
One last fruitless plea
In tinny scraps of air
Pushed up from greying lumens
Sourly yields a quashed neck coldening ,
The sore man sighs the last of life,
The man with the loathed shade met his end
Racism, tribalism, sexism are the same thing.. different coats of the same bean.
George Meadows Jun 2020
“From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”
–William Shakespeare (Prologue to Romeo and Juliet)

I was hewn from the helpless limbs of a tree
Which could have grown
To become something magnificent

Through sanding and carving
Through varnishing and the work of human hands
I was formed

In a way, the tree which was mutilated to give me life
Was a foreshadowing of my truncheon fate

I swing through the air once again
A weapon in the hands of a vehement oppressor

Skin splits
Blood sprays
Bone shatters

Bodies litter the dust
Staining the earth with crimson testament
To the cruelty I have wrought
Some of the figures are marred
Reminiscent of the tree from which I was hewn
Which died to give me life

The dark throng of protestors
Are but mortals
Faced by the immortal power
Of those lighter beings
Who wield me, mercilessly

I wish to weep
For the destruction, pain
Anguish I leave in my wake

I wish I was still a living bough
Capable of shedding resin tears
Capable of yielding to greater forces
Not to force the vulnerable to break

But I cannot weep
I cannot yield

I am a baton
A weapon in the hands of those who swore to protect
Yet scythe down those who rise to protect what is rightfully theirs

Ancient grudge of black and white
Break to new mutiny of segregation
Where civil blood of those who seek protection
Makes civil hands who swore to guard them
Unclean.
In June 1959, the inhabitants of Cato Manor protested the forced removals of the time. The police were sent in and the protests turned violent.
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