THE SPARK

ashes, ashes
they all fall down
when the flames of hate
lick up our heels
twirling these
deranged bodies that have
known empty stomachs
one too many times.
from the sands of Tunisia
to the
twisted steel of Texas
we find that oppression has a
sour kiss
hemlock
venus fly trap lips that
devours our humanity in gulps.
i can’t say i know what
tunnels under Egypt are like
but i’ve smuggled food and supplies
to those considered
enemies of the state
combatants
sardine compacted in
Ad Seg cells.
but
what we don’t know
(yet)
is the fire that
one self-induces
when despair has
rock a bye baby’d him
into a dream state where this
hot
horrid
humiliating
death by fire-
that was short
but felt an eternity-
was preferable to this
hot
horrid
humiliating
life by oppression
that was long
but felt incomplete.
for the ones that
look down on us-
be us w/ beards & kufis
or
white uniforms & cuff rings-
their spit is all the same
the boot drags my neck
just as hard
and the disdain
stains the same.
so when asked
“how do you
survive
and keep your sanity?”,
i say…
i don’t know,
but each time a
MOHAMED BOUAZIZI
can spark a revolution
making the flames of hate
lick up his heels
because he just
couldn’t take
being shit on again…
i drop to my knees
and plea
because i know when
ashes, ashes
they all fall down
the next time
it could be
me.

 

(In Memory of Troy Davis, James Byrd and ironically Lawrence Brewer)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *