Naw give up
It no good (to stay in a white man country too long) lol
Dis poem
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
"yu studied me an filmed me - remember... remember I hav studied studying..."
A modern slave song
by Benjamin Zephaniah
When yu cosy in yu house
Remember I exist,
When yu drink expensive drink
Remember I exist,
When yu lying on me beach
Remember I exist,
When yu trying to sell me beans to me
Remember I exist.
When yu loving each other to death
Remember I exist,
When yu selling me me music
Remember I exist,
When yu sell dat cotton shirt
Remember I exist,
When yu interviewing me
Remember I exist.
I was de first inventor -- remember
I am black an dread an luv -- remember
I am poor but rich, don't mess -- remember
I made history -- remember.
Yu tried to shut me mouth -- remember
Yu studied me an filmed me -- remember
Yu spending me money -- remember
Yu trying to feget me but remember,
Remember I am trained to not give in,
So don't feget.
Remember I hav studied studying
So don't feget.
Remember where I come from, cause I do.
I won't feget.
Remember yu got me, cause I'll get yu.
I'll mek yu sweat.
by Benjamin Zephaniah
When yu cosy in yu house
Remember I exist,
When yu drink expensive drink
Remember I exist,
When yu lying on me beach
Remember I exist,
When yu trying to sell me beans to me
Remember I exist.
When yu loving each other to death
Remember I exist,
When yu selling me me music
Remember I exist,
When yu sell dat cotton shirt
Remember I exist,
When yu interviewing me
Remember I exist.
I was de first inventor -- remember
I am black an dread an luv -- remember
I am poor but rich, don't mess -- remember
I made history -- remember.
Yu tried to shut me mouth -- remember
Yu studied me an filmed me -- remember
Yu spending me money -- remember
Yu trying to feget me but remember,
Remember I am trained to not give in,
So don't feget.
Remember I hav studied studying
So don't feget.
Remember where I come from, cause I do.
I won't feget.
Remember yu got me, cause I'll get yu.
I'll mek yu sweat.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Bocas Del Tiempo de Eduardo Galeano
TIME PLAYS GAMES
It’s said that once upon a time two friends were admiring a painting. The work of art, by who knows who, was from China, a field of flowers at harvest time.
One of the friends, who knows why?, fixed his faze on a figure in the painting, one of many women with baskets gathering poppies. She wore her hair loose, flowing over her shoulders.
At last she returned his gaze, let her basket fall, held out her arms, and, who knows how, carried him off.
He let himself be taken, who knows where, and with that woman he spent nights and days, who knows how many, until a gust of wind picked him up and returned him to the room where his friend remained standing before the painting.
So brief was that eternity that the friend had not noticed his absence. And neither had he noticed that the woman, one of many women in the painting gathering poppies in their baskets, now wore her hair tied at the back of her neck.
It’s said that once upon a time two friends were admiring a painting. The work of art, by who knows who, was from China, a field of flowers at harvest time.
One of the friends, who knows why?, fixed his faze on a figure in the painting, one of many women with baskets gathering poppies. She wore her hair loose, flowing over her shoulders.
At last she returned his gaze, let her basket fall, held out her arms, and, who knows how, carried him off.
He let himself be taken, who knows where, and with that woman he spent nights and days, who knows how many, until a gust of wind picked him up and returned him to the room where his friend remained standing before the painting.
So brief was that eternity that the friend had not noticed his absence. And neither had he noticed that the woman, one of many women in the painting gathering poppies in their baskets, now wore her hair tied at the back of her neck.
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