Recommended reading on WriteHere: The Dreamstones of Kalpana – http://wh.tl/160501-8
Source: The Dreamstones of Kalpana
Category: Survival
No Glory Here
There is no glory here for me
The victory flame is quenched
No more the striving, driving fight,
in perspiration drenched
No more the laurel crown
that wreathes the winner’s fevered brow
The tender flesh of virgin maids
press not against me now
No more the cheering of the crowds
resounding in my head
No smiles or chants or accolades
No rivals full of dread
In this arena here I stand
though weary, sad and worn
But not til death’s hand pulps my heart
this sword from hand be torn
Just Say Know
No thermostat heat
No central air conditioning
No storm windows
No waxed floors
No cafeterias
No new books
No shiny desks
with compartments
for your stuff
No high tech lighting
No cell phones
No smart boards
No desktops
No laptops
No gaming consoles
No wi-fi
No bullies
No nonsense
No cheating
No missing homework
No disrespecting teachers and elders
No smartass remarks
No sagging your pants
No midriffs and cleavage
No smoking to get high
No cutting class to have sex parties
No baby daddies
No baby mamas
No drug dealers
No gang bangers
No dropouts
Just say Know…
Know technology
Know reading
Know math
Know science
Know history
Know music
Know mechanics
Know carpentry
Know electricity
Know geography
Know your brothers
Know your sisters
Know your purpose
Know your future
is in
your hands
You do know that, right?
No Turning Back
how
Savage
must you be
to beat a
Savage
how
Beastly
must you be
to conquer a
Beast
how
Uncivilized
do you become
when you
enjoy abusing the
Uncivilized
how
Low
do you descend
when you
torture
one you call
Lower
how
do you remain
on
your pedestal
and put others
on
auction blocks
Do you appreciate
the irony
in the phrase
“lazy slave?”
Our bleeding
and crying
and dying
mirrored the
Uncivilized, Low,
Savage Beast
back to those
who branded men such,
even though they
smiled and laughed
at it
But underneath their
mirthful cruelty,
eyes yet smolder
and
blood yet boils
And that is why
we must
be indifferent
if
our pride offends,
and
our standing up
to grab the lash
strikes fear
For while no longer afraid,
we have learned
You never turn
your back
on the feral…
Why You Leaving Now, Daddy?
Back then
the shovels,
picks, hoes,
rakes, pitchforks,
axes and scythes
were held high
on tired shoulders
that had to make it
through
one more day
to eke out
a hardscrabble
living
under people
with hardscrabble hearts
They sang and joked
and laughed between
the grunts of effort
that went into
breaking ground
Their sweat brought
the flies and mosquitoes
Their existence brought
bullies carrying violence
But their thoughts were
on their wives and children,
who knew that when their men
left them
it was to make the
best life
they could until
they could do better
There was hope in their toil,
and love in their hearts
and it hurt them to see their women
standing with the children waving, sad smiles on their
little faces, and his wife with
worry in her eyes even though
she smiled too
He might run into the wrong man today…
Coming home tired,
to a cooked meal,
and children on his lap,
and a warm bed with
the love of his life
holding him close.
So
Now that the chains are off,
Now that you’re free
Now that you can dream your own dreams
and lift up the next generation
Why you leaving now, daddy?
Why you in jail now, daddy?
Why did you shoot that other Black man?
Was he a daddy too?
Why you don’t come by to see us?
Why is mama crying?
Did you hit her again, daddy?
Don’t you love us anymore?
Daddy? Daddy?
Don’t go…
Why you leaving now, daddy?
Of Soldiers Brave and True
Respect and honor
to our
Black soldiers
brave and true
Highly decorated
but also
segregated
You went
and fought
one war
they told you
they needed you for,
wishing they didn’t
But we all know
you went
and fought
two wars
and won
them both
Thank you.
Welcome back
to your people
and
Welcome Home
to your country
too.
A Story Told in Song
From the savannah
the deserts
the grasslands
the veldt
and the jungle
The music played
On the ship
In the cabins
In the master’s house
and the whipping sheds
and the cotton and tobacco fields
The music played
And at sunset
Heads lowered over
Unmarked graves of
Old men and
Innocent children
The music played
From the Underground Railroad
through the rise of Pullman Porters
The music played
Through Jim Crow
and chain gangs
The music played
Through hard times
and celebrations
Through vibrant
ululations
and rising expectations
The music played
In the Deep South
through the screams
and cries wrought
by night riders
and cross burnings
The music played
Over the sound
of barking dogs
and high pressure hoses
The music played
Through Malcolm, through Newton,
and Martin and Jesse
The music played
Through the first black…
The music…
We must teach the songs
that kept the voices lifted
though hearts were heavy
Kept the flames lit though
our dreams of freedom were
constantly extinguished
Kept hope alive through our best
writers, artists, and orators.
The music played, and plays still
And it will play on
as long as we remember,
And if
we
teach it well,
long after
we’re
gone.
Breaking Chains
These chains
seized
my hands
and
my feet
Forced my eyes
to look up
at the searing sun
of my homeland
retreating as the
waves took me
to foreign, hostile
shores
Long did I wear them
and suffer under their weight
Long did I fight against them
and when they resisted me,
I fought some more
Against my flesh they
burned and chafed
and pressed me down
Against the stones I
slammed them
over and over
We fought for days
Decades
Centuries
And yet you do
not understand…
I was forged
into a weapon
by these chains
You carried me
and used me,
made me privy to
the intentions
of your heart
and the schemes of
your mind
And now
after all this fighting,
the chains are loose.
But if you think to bind me
again
to your service
at my life’s expense
You will see
that I am a
Warrior
now,
and no man’s
Slave,
My mind,
Unsheathed
My flesh,
Unbound
Not to your peril,
but to my own
Benefit
And these
broken chains
no longer have
Dominion
over me.
For Real (or Ode to a Conspiracy)
Author’s Note: I remember standing on the stoop of my grandmother’s brownstone in Harlem, and we watched a line of people form because the drug supply had come in. There were young men in business suits, mothers with baby carriages, and wide mix of ages. My grandmother turned to me and said, “This sure is a weak society out here.” Given the time she grew up in, and the circumstances she had to endure, I had no answer. Did our ancestors really fight so hard, so long to survive, so we could kill ourselves, and say it was someone else’s fault?
“The CIA put drugs in our neighborhoods.”
And we used them.
“The government put guns in our neighborhood.”
We used those too.
So let me ask you: If I put a bomb on your doorstep,
and you take it inside, and it blows up on you,
who’s responsible for the damage it caused?
The key to countering conspiracies is sabotage,
not compliance.
Break the strings
Become a real man
instead of a ‘real nigga’
And free yourself.
For real.
Still On Tryal
Author’s Note: This photo was taken at the Slave Museum. As the little girl’s mother was explaining what happened, she hugged the statue and said, “Everything’s going to be okay.” This is a poem that reflects that faith…
They sure tried:
To strip us culturally
To bend us spiritually
To break us physically
To give us second best
To question our humanity
To question our intelligence
They sure tried:
To stop us from voting
To stop us from organizing
To stop us from demanding
To stop us from marching
To stop us from praying
To stop us from fighting
To stop us from protesting
To stop us from singing
They sure tried:
To deny us access
To reduce our numbers
To convince us we don’t belong
To tell us we had nothing
they didn’t give us
To stop us from voting
To erase us from history
They sure tried:
To tell us to get over
the very history they
imposed
on us
They sure tried:
To tell us we’re violent
Ignorant
Beastly
Savage
Sexual predators
Dopefiends
Whores
and Pimps
and
Criminals
They sure tried:
To keep us illiterate
To keep us afraid
To keep us unaware
To keep us drunk
To keep us in vice
To keep us down
They sure tried:
To keep us enslaved
We tried too:
To be patient
To be non-violent
To suffer
To fight through the system
To die on our feet
But we got tired of trying
because they mistook
patience
for weakness
So we said
No,
and we said
No longer
And we said
No more
And we said
Our lives matter
And now they try
to say it’s our fault
they have to kill us.
And now, in 2016…
We find that
the
Tryal
is far from over
But if we stand
and work
and build
and teach
and love
TOGETHER
the verdict
is
Victory.
Beyond Panic 