"oppresses" poems
Bravery
I thought I was brave
with the scars to prove it.
My legacy -
broken bones, split knuckles,
black eyes and loose teeth.
Adulation and respect.
I fought both man and isms
Never backed down.
But a black man, driving
an Uber taught me the truth of
true bravery.
Harassed, insulted, threatened by
a low-life passenger,
white racism covered in a cheap suit and tie,
he refused to take the bait.
He denied himself the pleasure of
justified violence.
He told me his story -
and anger for him, righteous indignation,
crashed over me in furious waves.
I admonished him for not
confronting that mans ignorance
with a closed and determined fist.
Never back down, right?
Gently, he spoke the truth of
black men in America.
His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror.
You, he said, are innocent until proven guilty.
Protected by a system that
oppresses me.
I am guilty - period - and would be lucky
to be arrested, not killed,
in a confrontation with that bigot.
So he did nothing, let the swine in a tie
off at his destination,
and drove on - leaving that pig to
wallow in his hate.
His bravery earned him nothing.
No adulation. No respect. No recognition.
Nothing except another day of life.
Another day with his family.
In contrast - my lifetime of bravery.
A pale reflection, when set beside his truth.
He was brave, not I.
My self-styled bravery, forever
tainted
by my privilege.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
What's your name?
Abubakar salim bin jahedee
sorry sir you will have to step back,
****** hypocrites,
how does my religion connect to terrorism,
I'm just a tourist in your territory,
no doubt,
my fellow brothers who dress like me,
act upon their anger due to ignorance,
and the quest for freedom ,peace& justice,
Just see,
What a curious coincides that is,
-but does that make me a terrorist?
Islam's a religion of peace,
yet they propagate islam with bad image,
Which is a huge damage,
Who's involved in horrendous crimes,
Who oppresses mere harmless civilians?
When we retaliate the world begins to hate and
start generalizing,
without realizing what conspired,
-does that make me a terrorist?
Its we muslims who suffer from terrorism,
all around the globe,
Terrorizing and vandalising isn't islam heritage,
Impressed and obsessed you are with your TV,
believing the twisted storys as it gets to you with
no atom of truth,
Corrupted by silly illusions,
Apportioning blame on hopeless islamist
seeking for peace,
Do you still think i'm a terrorist?
Develop some form of reservation when you
call us terrorists,
I need not to speak through my nose,
before you know islam is against all kinds of
injustice,
-How can I be a terrorist then?
Innocent muslims die everyday,
In the hands of american soldiers
yet we are never part of the mainstream news.
No one cares,
Take a soul of an american citizen,
Then the whole world will point at muslims as
terrorist,
how tragic,
-does that make me a terrorist?
As a Reflection & manifestation,
Of an expression to the element of truth,
My Quran says,
you with your religion & me with my religion,
-does that sound like words of a terrorist?
I dress in the most noblest of form,
Yet you criticize me while you breed monsters
in your country,
Man to woman, woman to man all in the name
of civilization,
All these leaves me spellbound,speechless &
riveted
In loneliness and seclusion,
Reflect over the word terrorism,
And you will see it has no connection with
islam,
i'm a muslim not a terrorist.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Please be aware, the arrogance of a Burglar
that breaks into your home and steals your
property is permissible
Please carefully note that the arrogance of a stinking bully
that oppresses you and wants to cower you down
is permissible
Please take into consideration that the arrogance of a gang
that terrorizes and bullies is permissible
Please bear in mind the arrogance of liars, twisters, slanderers
fraudsters and defamers is permissible
Please remember the arrogance of fringe lunatics to unjustly
condemn and victimize and bring chaos and destruction
to an innocent human is permissible
Please keep in your appraisals the arrogance of a misled majority
to impose, mob, obstruct, harass and hound is democracy
in action and is permissible
Please note that the arrogance and ignorance of offensively discriminating against any foreigner or minority member is permissible
Please note to work hard and earn an honest living is Arrogant
Please know to stand up to criminal bullies is Arrogant
Please know to stand up to stinking bullies is Arrogant
Please know to speak up for yourself is Arrogant
Please note to refuse to be cowered by thieves is Arrogant
Please know to refuse to be browbeaten is Arrogant
Please know to refuse to have your confidence drained is Arrogant
Please know to stand up to adversity is Arrogance
Please know to not be weak and Feeble under pressure is Arrogance
Please know to have self respect and be self assured is Arrogant
Please know to possess your own mind is Arrogance
Please know to offer as much as a squeak when being unfairly and unjustly treated is Arrogance
Above all please know that we invented the English Language and have the sole knowledge as to what constitutes Arrogance, whether you like it or not, and if you protest about that, you are ****** guilty of Arrogance...my friend!
Please be strictly conscious that Arrogance is weakness, mental weakness. Falling to the desires of our darker instincts and
succumbing to conceit and smugness.
Please pay particular attention to the salient fact that Arrogance
portraits a total lack of human decency towards other humans
Know that when arrogance ceases humanity ascends.
And we we all live in a lovely perceptibly white and wonderful world
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
258
There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons—
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes—
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are—
None may teach it—Any—
’Tis the Seal Despair—
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air—
When it comes, the Landscape listens—
Shadows—hold their breath—
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death—
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They punch me in the face
Until it is apparently asymmetrical
They call me human waste
And tell me not to be sentimental
When they're insistent
On our difference
I begin to see asymmetry
In the way they're treating me
Does anybody remember or even care
About what happened in Nisour Square?
A Blackwater slaughter
Killing sons and daughters
An unprovoked
Macabre joke
The militants were convicted
The victims remained deceased
The locals were livid
When the problem would repeat
We don't mind taking innocent lives intentionally
When we see their value asymmetrically
Does anyone remember when the city of Fallujah
Smoked like a hookah?
Thermobaric rocket launchers
That used depleted uranium
To melt insurgent craniums
Left behind waste
That is radioactive
The citizens could taste
The shame of being passive
When they couldn't reject
The spike in birth defects
A child is born with its heart protruding from its chest
So we can more easily grab it
That child was born with an asymmetrical breast
Because of our capitalist habit
Contractor corpses hang from a bridge
While we stand on a ridge
Separating chaos and order
A symmetrical border
Order oppresses
Chaos undresses
Both cause messes
We need to see each other equally
Or we'll continue seeing sequel sprees
We need to stop seeing asymmetrically
And adopt a completely loving creed
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:24 AM UTC
The not me is blind
He can’t see past the illiteracy swamp
The not me is deaf
He can’t ear harmony in humankind
The not me is dumb
He oppresses and repress
The not me has no smell
He bargain and sell and swell
The not me has his hands clasped and tied
He’s guide to be a guileless tool
The not me are gray
They’re simply fuel
Dead corpses to play
Deny thyself
Untangle your eyes
Cease to be a machine
And become the self
I mean, let go of
Prejudice and conventions
And dogmas of society
Let yourself be carried by the self
Let go of thy dimension
Stable and confortable
Those made up dreams
Provide sense to existence
The self lives
Sees past unreal reality
Ears past instilled dreams
Lastly tastes the liberality
Lastly irradiates beams out
Of instilled tune
Lastly he flies from the cocoon
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
Can I borrow your voice, because I’ve seem to have lost mine. In search of a purpose, that I’ve found in a line. About love that’s been found in a place without hope, that oppresses its people without shackles or ropes. In a place with a light that shines in the dark, that echoes of praise, music and baby shark. Where the youth of tomorrow step for what’s right, in the name of equality and justice with unwavering might. A place where we have all given so much, and received even more from the people we’ve touched. But our yesterdays have passed and out tomorrow is today, and I struggle for happiness as Selma drivers away. So I stare out the window with my mind in a daze, as this once alien scenery catches my gaze. And the trees pass in rhythm as I fall victim to sleep, with only one thought on my mind…the company I keep. For I have been blessed by the company I hold, the experiences we’ve had and the stories we’ve told. By the games we’ve played and the relationships we’ve formed, by the tears we have shed for weathering the racial storm. And as I stir from my sleep I wake without fear, because the people I’d bleed for are sitting so near. So with my voice fading fast I say to you all, if the road gets too hard, don’t be afraid to call. For your callous hands look exactly like mine, from the work that we’ve done to make Teppers shine. And if you need a wise word or a shoulder to cry, I can be there for your lows and even your highs. This trip has meant more to me then words can express, and its you with my heart that I choose to invest. So with these last and final words, I compassionately say to you. Keep you minds always open and your heart will stay true. Because our world is always changing no matter what we do, and it is you whom I love that will bridge the old and the new.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called ** told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care--
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!"
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
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I pledge allegiance to the flag a symbol which we sought
For which it stand the high ideals that we all forgot
One nation superior to all who stand opposed
Because they do not see, feel, or know what we know
under god just in case you were calm we have to remind you
That there is a great and powerful being that controls, oppresses, and binds you
Indivisible with justice and liberty for all who can afford it
But if you are not just like us you might as well ignore it
So here is your allegiance without the mystery
The subtle undertones that you might be able to see
Welcome to a symbol which we can unite behind
And ignore that acts of barbarity that would normally trouble our mind
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
As I walk through the city, surrounded by concrete, inhaling polluted air
I hear pneumatic drills and sirens, they are violence to the ear
I see people full of stress, scurrying rat-like along dirt-stained paths
I smell fast food and decay, my senses dulled by this toxic smog
The chaos suffocates, oppresses and burdens my breath
I think this is it.
This is us.
This is what we are.
Nov 17, 2023
Nov 17, 2023 at 5:56 AM UTC
you are the river.
you're not the dirt that washes through it.
you're not the animal that drinks from the shore.
you're not the leaves that float in the current.
you're not the heat that dries the bed.
you're not the pollution that floods the stream.
you're not the frost that freezes the waves.
you're not the rain that floods the banks.
you're not what passes through you, harms you, oppresses you.
you are the river.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
Selfless spring
Would've ripened
His freedom...
Alas,
Lady Winter oppresses.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
summer
searingly hot
beads of sweat
scorching sun oppresses
roasting
autumn
leaves change
birds start migrating
a time of recess
pensive
winter
snow falls
white across landscape
encased in great coldness
gelid
spring
vivid colors
vivacious garden bed
everything comes to life
brilliant
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
red wine beads at my brow
I wait to wince
poppies dance out in the yard
in the little warmth from seasons since
her feet trail away
the broken magnum at mine
head, heat, blaring haze
scythes at the atlas of my spine
scorn and disgrace
raw and insipid
the sun turns its face
lends whatever light to the wicked
she said she'd put the fear of god in me
but god is not what I fear
not what oppresses my feet
nor the ache of my best years
he does not hang from her tongue
like the prize of her spiced ***
any vestige of will; any spirit, any trace
for any iota of refrain
quashed, quelled
concealed and contained
another fickle whine
another fleeting wish
any mistake I've made is mine
and hers are carried on the wind
she speaks like the end;
the war, and then what's won
no more sour a tend
than to the wounds of what's been done
the world armed to defend;
her foes a heavy sword against a throng so young
infantile infantry
ripened from infancy
what a weapon are my sons
what a kindness she's coughed up
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC
Silver vein'd and shaking through.
The night oppresses me with a speed relentless
and a sound constant: the insect hum, the air conditioned rattle.
And I drop myself and I tuck myself and I sleep myself
as best I can.
And her hushed song, her morning song, her routine song,
while she plucked herself white and shaved herself clean,
enters the sacred corridors of my sleep. And her face burns
into my mind. Something religious. She's a godhead,
one who exists with or without my permission. And I'd
sing along with her if it weren't for the sleeping. But I'm
diffusing all responsibility and I'm creeping toward the center
of that otherworld, where logic and time bow to her
and who am I?
so I bow too.
The days of my old life, the ones well lived, bleed in
and the regrets smooth themselves out and I dab at
her makeup with a wet napkin and I say this:
Do you have any idea how many times I've said
I love you to an empty room?
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
I have no strength when I see this woman
The way her finger brushes her lips,
The way she lowers it among the pages
Scattering their words within the grass
Like a swan its wings in the red and soft sun.
Don’t rush talking to her in birds’ tongue, I order myself
Nor sing to her a child’s prayer from the chestnut leave
Thus, in a gallop, over sheets of paper, the knight stretches his arm rigidly,
A snare to the innocent sparrow
With a frail finger she oppresses the lips of this poem,
And they are enjoying the whipping of the purple hair
Which she threw, like the fisherman his trawl, ahead of the gallop.
I have no strength since she raised her eyes,
And their spear was released through my ribs
Towards the thicket of the lake,
Where the mud swallows the lines of a patched up boat.
(on the shore, the fish are throwing themselves, burned by this light and there they lay)
oh happy ones, for you found your pursuit in her path!
Alas myself, for there’s no strength in me to eat and to drink
When I see this woman and words are falling out of my mouth
Like some crumbs for the stray dogs
Like some flowers thrown on the water
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 9:57 AM UTC
This side
Oppresses in one
The center of the universe
That side
Oppresses through the many
The chosen ones
Injustice happens in many ways
At least let us choose
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:02 AM UTC
If I was a drinker, I’d be dry on the rocks;
if I was an addict, I’d be dead.
I’m not proud enough to call myself a writer
and I barely scrape by with the title “poet”.
It’s not all the same, except it kind of is,
and if it’s all the same to you,
I’d rather be a maniac, or pure **** with good definitions,
than another ignorant sack of **** with lazy reasoning
and a demeanor leaning towards believing
"I’m above it" really means you are truly above it.
If I was a gambler I’d go all in on my debt,
and wind up missing fingers and half my life
to say you truly believe in the things you say.
If I was a violent man, I’d start more fistfights,
and if I was more of an ******* I’d call you stupid.
However, I’m not the boxer taking the dive,
or the druggie nodding off on the transit,
or the gambler with his mortgage on a pair of jacks,
or the ******* that oppresses someone and plays the victim.
I’m not the writer that made it somewhere big enough
to ever be a has been, or a wash up. I’m a never-was.
To say this is a sad song implies it’s not comfortable.
I’m the *** of my own visions and dreams,
and all my streets and alleys are only seedy
because I wrote them that way.
At least I’m not pretending I’m above it,
while actively participating. Although, **** it,
I guess nobody can tell from a distance.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
I have surrendered to ungovernable impulses
That within my very existence invokes a great addiction
Oppresses noise and forms an intoxication of contradictions
They caress me with impetuous charms of dazzling vision
With vast silences that mitigate in sonorous symbolism
Exiled in my own reality, I see what I have never seen
Or only thought I saw I am now condemned
To see what has never been seen
A shimmering like the painting of a whisper
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
When it is quiet enough
to hear
wind through Pine trees
and no traffic or sounds
of human destructive civilization
that only owns and exploits
and oppresses and extinguishes
then I know I am
high enough and peaceful
Pine trees are dry
as hot wind slithers through the needles
a soothing sound
far away and out of reach
of those who would take and crush
what is priceless
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
Is there anyway I could merely fall asleep and just dream... dream..
Dream away from the scars and fights
Fights and scars of all that which oppresses me and depresses me, Reality is no necessity of mine
I shall stick to the depths of my mind
And whatever I may find
I'll hold it, I'll mold it, till I can call it mine.
For what hath reality ever hold for me
Nothing, nothing but pain, misery, and atrocity
Free, I shall be
With the birds of my dreams
For it seems
That the birds that fly in reality
Are trapped and caged hopelessly
By this omnipresent hatred
leave this Earth as it is, old and decrepit
I dare not die
'T'is not death
For I have lived and merely decide
'Tis those that live, that hath given up their breath
I lie awake ready for the ride
The ride that may take me to a new height
Oh sweet cyanide... I sleep again, tonight
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 12:47 PM UTC