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"rwandan" poems
April 5th 1994- Kurt Cobain dies April 6th 1994- The President of Rwanda Dies April 7th 1994- Kurt Cobain's body is found April 7th 1994- A genocide begins. Neighbors take arms against neighbors People he once shared a sandbox with now hold a machete to his neck Heads roll- literally Babies cry out to their mothers who lie there choking on their own blood Girls who 2 days ago were playing house with their dolls, now take care of their whole family Screams of pain from girls who's innocence is taken from the man who used            to bounce them on his knee. Gathered in the place where God is supposed to be Hundreds are murdered ruthlessly. Guns not pointed at their heads But clubs that smash them in. Achilles' heels slashed These men drink and feast and sleep Over the screams of their victims Babies born 9 months after these men took something that was not theirs to            take A physical representation of all that is evil and hatred and pain She tries to love them anyway But she sees him in them He has daddy's eye She has her fathers nose She sees them in the way he looks at her when he's hungry As if she is just there to quench that thirst with her body. The whole word is split in 2 Nobody is Rwandan anymore You are Hutu or Tutsi Short or tall Human or vermin. The dead among the living Sometimes I can't tell which is which Until I see it That sparkle of hope in that one man's eye Because the human spirit will never die. The father of his best friend tortured and murdered his mother on their            front lawn. Orphaned and afraid, He cannot stop He cannot slow down He cannot give up Because ***** Kurt Cobain he has to tell the story of what really happened that day Rwanda April 7th 1994
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Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
April 7, 1994
April 5th 1994- Kurt Cobain dies April 6th 1994- The President of Rwanda Dies April 7th 1994- Kurt Cobain's body is found April 7th 1994- A genocide begins. Neighbors take arms against neighbors People he once shared a sandbox with now hold a machete to his neck Heads roll- literally Babies cry out to their mothers who lie there choking on their own blood Girls who 2 days ago were playing house with their dolls, now take care of their whole family Screams of pain from girls who's innocence is taken from the man who used            to bounce them on his knee. Gathered in the place where God is supposed to be Hundreds are murdered ruthlessly. Guns not pointed at their heads But clubs that smash them in. Achilles' heels slashed These men drink and feast and sleep Over the screams of their victims Babies born 9 months after these men took something that was not theirs to            take A physical representation of all that is evil and hatred and pain She tries to love them anyway But she sees him in them He has daddy's eye She has her fathers nose She sees them in the way he looks at her when he's hungry As if she is just there to quench that thirst with her body. The whole word is split in 2 Nobody is Rwandan anymore You are Hutu or Tutsi Short or tall Human or vermin. The dead among the living Sometimes I can't tell which is which Until I see it That sparkle of hope in that one man's eye Because the human spirit will never die. The father of his best friend tortured and murdered his mother on their            front lawn. Orphaned and afraid, He cannot stop He cannot slow down He cannot give up Because ***** Kurt Cobain he has to tell the story of what really happened that day Rwanda April 7th 1994
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46
Read, watched, Listened for snippets Wore the buttons, Devoured anything… Apartheid Had my own personal Bedroom Revolution... Jumped high…In place… with the best of them Little balled up fists… Pumping… Chanted the chants Sang the song Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa And I meant it! Oh My God I meant it from my young revolutionary soul Cried adolescent girl cries For our South African brothers and sisters All of the martyrs Known and unknown STOP APARTHIED! STOP APARTHIED! Free Nelson Mandela!! To this very day I love me some Nelson Mandela Love the man he is Mourn the man he was Big Fine Educated Pugilistic African Man Passionate Compassionate On that serious mission Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality Gave his life To promote the cessation of An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide In that Death Seldom came quickly A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade In that it was not based economically Therefore ALL the “Kaffers” Could be maimed or die And it wouldn’t cost a thing… Monetarily speaking A society wherein Each Black death Someone’s Job… or Someone’s Entertainment Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to Douse fuel on the already Brightly burning fire of Hate and torture and hate I love Nelson Mandela For making like David And having the ***** To take on the Goliath Apartheid Satan is creative His minions resourceful We will never know the indignities; Can only imagine the violations My Nelson was forced to endure Imprisoned for 27 years I love Nelson Mandela For having the strength To keep living When so many others couldn’t Still able to put One In front of The other Albeit gingerly But still locomoting Out of hell On his own two feet… That alone makes him a hero To me In my heart he will always be The Big Fine Educated Pugilistic Passionate Compassionate Hero That the young revolutionary in me sings about…
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Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
Love Me Some Nelson Mandela
Read, watched, Listened for snippets Wore the buttons, Devoured anything… Apartheid Had my own personal Bedroom Revolution... Jumped high…In place… with the best of them Little balled up fists… Pumping… Chanted the chants Sang the song Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa And I meant it! Oh My God I meant it from my young revolutionary soul Cried adolescent girl cries For our South African brothers and sisters All of the martyrs Known and unknown STOP APARTHIED! STOP APARTHIED! Free Nelson Mandela!! To this very day I love me some Nelson Mandela Love the man he is Mourn the man he was Big Fine Educated Pugilistic African Man Passionate Compassionate On that serious mission Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality Gave his life To promote the cessation of An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide In that Death Seldom came quickly A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade In that it was not based economically Therefore ALL the “Kaffers” Could be maimed or die And it wouldn’t cost a thing… Monetarily speaking A society wherein Each Black death Someone’s Job… or Someone’s Entertainment Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to Douse fuel on the already Brightly burning fire of Hate and torture and hate I love Nelson Mandela For making like David And having the ***** To take on the Goliath Apartheid Satan is creative His minions resourceful We will never know the indignities; Can only imagine the violations My Nelson was forced to endure Imprisoned for 27 years I love Nelson Mandela For having the strength To keep living When so many others couldn’t Still able to put One In front of The other Albeit gingerly But still locomoting Out of hell On his own two feet… That alone makes him a hero To me In my heart he will always be The Big Fine Educated Pugilistic Passionate Compassionate Hero That the young revolutionary in me sings about…
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91
At his little hippie college he shows me a *** that looks like a wall in a Rwandan museum, all skulls, he learned clay in the Rift Valley boarding school, on a kick wheel, still his favorite My brother is a potter multicolor plaid shorts little goatee Banjo Japan dreams girl from Mozambique. When we were little in Loiyangalani we made tiny huts out of obsidian while our Rhodesian Ridgebacks sniffed the ground for cobras sand vipers scorpions while twenty camels walked by in a row followed by tiny replicas My brother is a potter, says to me 'When I am doing this I am doing what I was created to do' He makes a green and blue candleholder for me which he calls 'The Islands,' light escapes through many holes which look like sea turtles pockets of air and an atomic bomb just gone off we turn off the lights in my room in the hood, snorkel in candlelight My brother gives me Rumi, incense, peace flags We walk the silent night smoke a clove look at stars like we used to do in the African riverbeds
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Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
My Brother Is A Potter
Hot Durban nights. Naked in the pool. The Blue Waters. Ebbing. Next door, my grandfather tried to hold on to. His wife. Thirsty for oxygen. As I slide off the tilting roof, holding its water as it cast me off. Into the nearby sea. You muffled my coughs. The taste of Vicks still won't leave my mouth. But it's one of my fondest memories. (By the bar where the Rwandan directors smoked dope. Late night discussions the foolish call art.) You, me and &*^%. Your tattoos and little ******* I thought were perfect. Modelled after martinis we'd never drink. (My broken phone kept calling Kote. Kote panicked with this unknown. Suspicious of coups.) The hand cloth towel slipped off your body. The pool water dripping onto the sheets. (Our saviour in the township on that night we tempted fate, re-enacting rapes, the terrifying 12 left us, and her girlfriend tried to kiss me, alone in the car) You walked into my hotel room. Fourth floor. You took the bible from the draw. Fourth floor. You threw it with a flick. Fourth floor. Then you ****** my Fourth floor And I fell Fourth floor asleep.
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Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
The Blue Waters
Rwandan orchid I will not let reality Take over my positive imagination In all seriousness Logic and peace We must rebel Against our own desires Of manufactured comfort With smiles Budding sweet tears Affirmative genocide Apathetic anonymous
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Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 2:40 PM UTC
Rwandan Orchid