Take My Rhyme

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: The Black Power Pantheon


Interrogates the relationship between the Written & Spoken word in the context of Black Resistance Struggles.

Submitted: August 31, 2018

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Submitted: August 31, 2018

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You may kill my body

Or hold my mind.

You may lock me up

Or give me indefinite time.

But you can’t do anything to take my rhyme

For the essence of my soul is tied into these lines.

 

Give me

One Mic.

One Page.

One Stage.

Some Black High School Students filled with rage

And you will get change.

See, we’re gonna change this nation.

This is part two of Emancipation

Because I am sick of this complacent contemplation.

When are we going to

Radically Rage as Resistance,

Insert some African Experience,

Give generous gifts to our “thugs”,

And envelop our African infants with eternal love?

 

You may hang my body

Or control my mind.

You may shackle my hands

And make monsters of my African Tribe.

But you shall never colonize my rhyme

For the essence of my soul is tied into these lines.

 

Bless the first female slave who put a pen

To a paper.

Curse the first male masta who stole

And then raped her.

Bless her will of stone

That ran passionately through her bones

While he tried his best to break her.

He stole her virginity

But not her rhyme.

For she always found time

To jot down a line.

He stole her malatoo children

But not her rhyme.

Because her fluid words got them back in her arms

When they were only nine.

He stole her dignity

But not her rhyme.

Because she was still wading in the water

While the whip was in her backside.

 

You may harm her body

And whitewash her mind.

You may strip her of her native tongue

And make her hate her own kind

But you will never separate her from her rhyme

For the essence of her soul is tied into these lines.

 

They beat us

They cheat us

They draft our bodies

When they need us.

They tried to stop us when

We were only a fetus.

Jesus!

Who ever said genocide was a one step process?

They denied our access,

Commodified our means of identity praxis,

Made us forget our African Practice

And that’s just on the bottom of the list.

 

They may massacre our bodies

Brainwash our minds.

They may toss us in jail

And even plagiarize.

But they’ll never do ANYTHING to imprison our rhyme

For the essence of our souls is tied into these lines.


© Copyright 2018 Louminescent. All rights reserved.

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