i have awakened
from my dream world
of reactionary flowers
and have clothed
myself in fibres of liberation
upon my head
i have placed
the garland of revolution
Poets spoke
of wars
and brothers
rapped
away the time
and all i could do
was speak of
white roses
and daisies
crosses were being burned—
justice was being denied
bullets were stilling lives
and yet i marvelled at
unrealistic
flower gardens
until
WEEDS
of Don Lee, Ameer Baraka, Giovanni, Pfister
and others made
my rose petals wither
and the thorns
of the rose
pricked
my finger
and i saw real blood
i speak no more of white lilies
and the magnolias no longer smell sweet
my reactionary flower world
is non-existant
and i listen
as the revolutionary
Weeds of Reality
rap to me
and as the
last wilted flower
dries up in
the sands of changing times
i get my thing Together.
[click to view introduction]