Forward the crowd marches
toward their god. He is
not mine. No god of mine
lets his creations bleed
themselves dry.
My God sheds a tear this night,
lets it roll down His cheek,
down the neck,
down like this city.
Stray dogs whining lullabies or hymns,
wolves' teeth flickering
in torchlight.
What boy ever cried out for this.
Not I. Not I the girl
with a tendency
to catch fire,
not I girl with a fear of breaking.
Forward the crowd marches
until the blood dries.
The rain pours from God's chin and
we pretend to cleanse ourselves of sin.
The dogs and wolves alike
shake their fur.
How easy it must be to call ourselves human.
How hard it must be to admit ourselves animals.
My God says
He created us to fill something:
anything but this.
The crowed marches forward
until the torches are swallowed by torches.
What human, what animal, what god
lets a good city burn.
What color must every creation bleed
to admit ourselves just that.

Were science to again visit
The topic of race in humans
Like mice, like bugs, like snakes
Findings would first be specious
Then suspicious, then delicious
Finally mundane

Were race to ever visit
Science and its arched eyebrow,
Flasks would boil indignantly
Mixers would cloud the water
Paradigms would wriggle
Then die

I'm a pragmatist: on the off chance that I see a pack of hoods drawing nearer, standing around,

acting a littering of open walkways, I basically

move to the next

side of the road, take no chances. I keep it on me constantly,

for well being purposes.

In case shooting start,

you'd be a danger I revealed to them when I, unfortunately, proved unable

permit the parcel of them into the gathering.

We're a piece of the same

political gathering, as indicated by every one of the numbers I've seen.

When I close the schools down, I was simply

doing what must be finished

to adjust a city spending plan crooked. When I put what

I found in his trunk on adjust,

it was sufficient to tip the scale

towards a lawful offense. I used to be a server, and they never

tipped extremely well as far as I can tell.

While we were putting down wagers,

I saw him tip his hand marginally and there was

a ̶̶r̶a̶c̶e̶ confront card in it. He didn't appear

like a lot of a bluffer, so I stood

my ground. On the grounds of legitimacy – that is the manner by which I got

into Harvard. I'm simply not that into dark

young ladies, by and by. That is to say, actually,

I don't SEE shading. I'm so sad, I truly didn't see you there.

There they go, utilizing that word once more:

on the off chance that they can state it, at that point for what reason right?

I can't comprehend why everyone is so touchy nowadays.

I concede, what I said sounded a tad

inhumane, yet trust me, I'm definitely not

a bigot. I'm a pragmatist: in the event that I see a pack of hoods drawing nearer, standing around,

acting a littering of open walkways,

I basically move to the opposite side.

I keep it on me consistently, for purposes: in case of a

danger, start shooting I let them know, unfortunately,

taking a gander at the body spread before me.

Every time you rhyme
everything sounds the same
but when I rap exact
I find it a bit inane
so you'll find in my lines
that the sound has changed
inside your mind I'm spreading a taint
with a sound so new you get inundated
with thoughts so ******* that yours get faded.
Rap is a game and this is how I play it
chew the brain food
this the way I cater
pursue the obtuse
so I form my cadence
eschew the assumed
treat the invaders
like they’re your neighbours
accommodate new thoughts
until they sound the same as
us

Then comes the day...
cracks thrown across,  my gaunt old face;
and strength gives way...
these bones are tired, cannot keep pace.

What's that you say?
"How much time here?" "How did you place?"
I couldn't say...
but won't be long, finished this race.

And chunked to clay...
marble stone laid, runes carved on base;
then all will say...
I was called home, by the Lord's grace.

Today we have the labeling of people groups.
Yesterday we had the suggestion of an inherent disposition to dishonesty and violence in some groups.
Tomorrow we will have the careful counting of individuals and the placing of individuals into each people group.
But today,
today we have the labeling of people groups.

For those of you who are new here, we recommend this period drama underlining racial differences with a subtle suggestion of inferior intellect in some groups indigenous to warmer climes.
And here we have a persuasive and tabloid friendly research paper that hints that children of mixed race tend to struggle in school. You'll be relieved to see that it hasn't any distracting data.
And on the shelf beneath you'll see there's a picture book version for younger children.

Over here is the arbitary divide between us and them, with a useful circle of arguments to differentiate ourselves from others.
Here we have colour coded lables to more easily distinguish between  people groups. Yes, that's correct, we have three labels: white, black and, a recent addition which is now available for added distinction, rainbow.
Oh yes, when engaging in any discussions, for your own safety please ensure you wear these ear defenders.
To ensure a free flow of visitors we have erected large signs in three languages marking where charity at home ends. Yes, after rigorous focus group testing we have selected the English language in three font sizes.

We are coming to the end of this orientation tour.  Please note the subtle but effective shedding of compassion for those who appear or sound different to us.  This underpins the necessary disregard for the rights of others that we assume for ourselves and for those like us. It is almost imperceptible I think you'll agree.

But the priority for today, as I say, is the labeling of people groups. 
No questions.
Shall we begin?

Infancy talked to me various languages, switching
Tonalities for different melodies, to be learnt.
Naturally acquiring the discernment, recognising
Faces and voices to choose applicable native tongues.

English with my father, whose name echoed as Plato,
Iranian with my mother, Italian with my siblings, French
With school teachers, Greek on summer holidays.

Growing up my hair and accents, led to the inevitable
Repetitive question, ‘Where are you from?’
Timidly answered as it was hard to comprehend, until I set
Myself to do so untiringly drafting precious family trees.

Investigations interrogating relatives to exhaustion,
Ignited my pride for every single drop of blood,
Composing me and drawing borders
On geographical maps delineating my essence.

My story was one of many, they labelled me a multi-ethnic,

For my daddy’s naissance in Accra from a mulatto beauty
Queen, daughter of a British doctor and his Ghanaian lady friend.
For her husband, his Hellenic pater, son of Chios, born in Sudan.

For my mummy’s naissance in Tehran from a noble
Banker, progeny of the Qajar dynasty originally Turkic,
And his pure blood Persian wife.

My parents met in England where they studied only
To marry and move to pre-revolutionary Iran. I was born
In Rome where they fled, when insurrections began.

Now if someone asks I forcefully respond,
“From planet Earth. A terrestrial little sphere at the heart
Of its star system, on the edge of its galaxy lost
Somewhere in space in the maze of the Universe.

My story is one of many, I labelled us humans.