cerealinabox.blogspot.com
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Redemption Song
Posted: October 27, 2009, 6:32 am by Kuro Hana
The task was this, be a minstrel for the revolution but the revolutions of the earth hate my evolution. The darkness of the night is like a snare to my feet but I dare not insult the martyrs by admitting defeat. What matters now is that I came this far, I fought this war, therefore I have the right to wear these scars. The bars on my window will not interrupt my view, from this jail cell I aim well to write for the chosen few. He who has ears let him listen as on this day we shall christen the dawn of a new order, yessir we streching our borders. No more to fall by the odour of all the sins of our fathers, we'll break this down and start building, we're reaching higher and further.
This pen sings of kings, of warriors and beings, of their words and things that saw this fight begin; of fists raised from the mist of ignorance and deceit, of the backs nearly crushed forming the dictator's seat.
I write for the soldiers, those with the heart to forgive the ones that sold us – out to the captains of the ships and their owners, just so they know, they no longer own us. They try to control our banks, bought a brother's soul, then with the cash, sold him a tank. Saw him yesterday, that brother's eyes were blank, heartless and these niggaz dare to call him thank-less? Like they done us a favour, shall we bow down to this contract saviour? Monkey see monkey do, follow their behaviour then savour the taste of blood and enjoy it's flavour? Nah.
I speak for the survivors, of the brainwash that threatened to divide us; those that believe diversity is divine and just wanna chill blazing with all the sistaz and brothaz. So what bothers me? Why have eyes and refuse to see? What's wrong with seeing things differently? For how long shall they let these divisions be? It's not so hard to sit and envision me, two years from now hanging with Achieng' and Kamau, while Moha be frying up some trout all in the shade of the Mau. Tis' trite that I write to instil the will to be real, my quill's the IV drip, drip dripping the truth straight into your veins, grip, gripping your mind till you go insane, saving you the guilt trip down memory lane. This inane crap has no place in our system but at this pace we shall soon replace the weak links, the kinks, the stink that rust how guys think, the atavistic throwbacks that want to pull us back, the thugs that lack the humanity to look at we and see a person. While we be like Dr. Carson and THINK BIG they hit rock bottom and still continue to dig. Clearly the revolution has the capacity to win this. Let these mutha'z know we mean business.
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The power of the "word"
Posted: October 16, 2009, 5:38 pm by cerealinabox
Vowels, consonants,
alphabet, syllables,
words, phrases,
sentences, paragraphs.
stories told in prose,
verses, poetry, beauty,
said aloud
spoken word.
the date:Before time
the artist: "The" artist
sited on a throne of light,
The universe is silent,
eagerly waiting for a performance,
deep breath,
deep resounding voice.. shh! it's about to start.
"Let there be light!!"
the stage lights up in a daze!
In the beginning was the word,
the spoken word.
the year: 63BC
the place: Rome
the republic is threatened,
Cataline wishes to destroy democracy,
tyrannize the people,
sedition is rife,
war and death are inevitable.
Enter the artist; Cicero,
The Place: Senate building,
he takes the stage,
the smell of death in the air,
he speaks,
4 speeches it takes him,
to purge Cataline to the hades,
Word, Spoken word.
The year: 32 AD
The Place: Ancient Galilee,
an artist moves from village to village,
moving souls, gig after gig,
when he speaks, loaves multiply,
he speaks, the deaf listen,
he spoke, and changed the world,
2000yrs on and counting,
word, spoken word.
Date: June 1772
The place: London, UK.
A judge named Mansfield sits in court,
before him,R vs. Knowles exparte Somersett,
the accused, a run away slave,
the defendant, a beast who owns people,
1772, history is made,
Mansfield pronounces,
"The back must be set free!"
those six words,
liberate a people.
December 1959,
Che Guevara is in Santa Clara,
adressing students on the struggle,
"The university should colour itself black,should colour itself mullato. It should paint itself in the colour of workers and peasants."
April, 1964,
the place: Cleve Land Ohio,
The piece: The ballot or the bullet
The artist: Malcom X
A piece so moving,
the artist is martyred.
September, 1960.
Kwame Nkrumah is in New York,
addressing the UN General Assembly,
"The great tide of history flows, and as it flows, it carries to the shores of reality the stubborn facts of life and mans relations. The flowing tide of African Nationalism sweeps everything before it, and acknowledges a challenge to the colonial powers to make a just restitution for years of injustice and crime committed against our continent."
Dude, that's deep, deep spoken word dude.
February, 11th, 1980.
Cape Town South Africa.
After a 27yr hiatus,
an old man walks off the Robben island ferry,
the weight of a countries expectations on his shoulders,
The artist: Madiba,
he steps to a mic and a strong voice bellows,
"I greet you all in the name of peace, democracy and freedom for all. I stand here before you, not as a prophet, but as a humble servant of you."
Cape Town is ablaze,
a people celebrate a messiah,
word my friend,
spoken word.
The date: Now
The place: Here
what shall they write you said?
...........CerealiNaBoX......©2009 -
Hostis Humanis Generis "enemy of all mankind"
Posted: October 8, 2009, 4:55 pm by cerealinabox
Whisper whisper whisper
Judge strikes the gavel,
Killing whispers and mumbles,
In a practiced solemnity he pronounces,
“Hostis Humanis Generis!” enemy of all man kind,
Whisper whisper whispers what does that mean?
Gavel again,
“Death by electrocution”
Declares the wigged man,
Applause and cheer, from the swarm of man kind.
He walks out down cast,
And they spit at him as he walks past,
Chant insults, call him evil, demonic, a pest.
Applause and cheer, from the swarm of man kind.
Flying red tomatoes,
Hurtling green sputum,
All stain his gleaming white vest,
All the time not a word from him in protest.
Applause and cheer, from the swarm of man kind.
7 o’clock news and they call him a cannibal,
8 o’clock, sick and demented,
9 o’clock, reporters christen him...the animal
Tabloids the next morning”Nairobi's own Hannibal”
Who gnaws upon the flesh of a fellow human?
Who kills and mauls his kinsman?
“A hungry man… he says to himself.”
He is alone, solitary confinement,
He is alone, trying to meditate,
Guilt eats him as he did those people,
He is alone, repenting his sins.
He remembers the first time,
This curse paid him a visit,
4yrs old, hungry, orphaned, starving,
A helpless bundle, abandoned at a garbage dump.
He remembers the stench,
Rotting miniature hands and heads in black bags,
He remembers the paralyzing hunger,
Rotting miniature hands stuffed in his mouth.
He must repent, he must make peace,
He remembers the feeling of a full stomach,
Recalls the wrenching and diarrhea,
The paralyzing hunger that always brought him back,
Back to black bags, and their putrid contents.
He must repent, he must make peace,
He remembers the raid on the clinic,
And the sudden disappearance of the black bags,
He remembers Judy,
The prostitute who wouldn’t take his money,
Called him dirty and smelly,
And how sweet her thigh was,
He remembers Lily,
Who wouldn’t sell him a joint,
And Jane who came looking for Lily,
Then Ivy, then Louise, then…
He must repent, he must make peace,
He is alone in his cell,
Hungry as hell,
The demons come,
And laugh at him when he casts them to hell.
He is alone in his cell,
He breaths deeply,
Takes in his scent,
The demons torment him,
Whisper whisper whisper
He can hear them in his ears,
Eyes bulge as he stares at his hands,
He is hungry,
A hunger only blood can quell,
Whisper whisper whisper,
They find him alone in his cell,
His vest red and no tomatoes in sight,
Clotted caked of red in his teeth,
Whisper whisper whisper
7 o’clock news, Hannibal dead,
8 o’clock news, Hannibal eats his own flesh to death,
9 o’clock news, they say he died,
With a smile across his face,
Whisper whisper whisper
Someone says maybe he died happy,
Satisfied, never to hunger again.
......................Cereal iN a Box...©2009
Blah blah blah
Fish cakes
Alas a fish cake.
Yet more fish cakes
Guess what ... yeah ... fish cakes.
The end of the fish cakes
