Everybody that reads this blog knows I am a poet and poets write when they are happy. They write when they are sad and they damn sure write when they are pissed the hell off. So I am sitting at my desk and I hear a song by Mos Def called Umi Says followed by another Mos Def song entitled Rock N Roll. Hearing these two songs got me to thinking about the roles that Black Women have played in this country and all over the world. We are the mother's of this nation and yet and still we are considered sub-human and not equal. It just sickens me and I wrote a poem because it was on my mind and I couldn't concentrate on my job unless I got it out. (Yes I am at work.) But anyway I hope you enjoy...if not I really don't give a damn.
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This poem is dedicated to Tafari. Keep on teaching Brotha. Keep on teaching.
Nappy Headed Ho's
They sang with ropes around their necks, welts on their backs, blood in their mouths.
They sang and they danced with chains on their ankles, no shoes on their feet, couldn't escape the rocks thorns and debris.
They danced and they prayed with hope in their hearts, faith in their pockets, and strength on their sides they prayed.
They prayed and they cried with never ending tears that washed the pain off of their faces.
They caught those tears in calloused hands and saved them for a rainy day and fed them to their children so they would never forget.
Never forget what they could survive.
Tell the story they said.
Pass it on, so these marks on my back mean something.
Lord.
Tell my story; how we birthed this Nation we were forced to plow.
We are not cattle. You are not animals.
You are a King strong and powerful.
You are not uneducated.
You are a Queen lively and beautiful.
Lord.
Pass it on.
Let them know that this blood in you is the same blood in them.
The milk that I fed you is the same that I gave them.
Let them know that it was more than a joy ride.
No, it was not a pleasure cruise.
It was hell on wheels.
But we made it through.
Rough times and rocky roads.
No shoes and little clothes.
Nothing fancy we just jumped over the broom.
Strong family united from the womb to the tomb.
Tell them baby, tell my story.
Pass on your heritage of Oshun and Yemenya.
Tell of your roots of Hannibal and Shaka Zulu.
Tell them.
Let them know that they will never possess the power to steal your glow.
Lord.
Tell them my story.
Feed it to them forcibly and hold it down for them.
Make it known around the world who I am so these welts on my back and scars on my hands mean something.
Let them know, so the next time they want to call Black Women “Nappy headed Hos” they will think twice.
They sang and they danced with chains on their ankles, no shoes on their feet, couldn't escape the rocks thorns and debris.
They danced and they prayed with hope in their hearts, faith in their pockets, and strength on their sides they prayed.
They prayed and they cried with never ending tears that washed the pain off of their faces.
They caught those tears in calloused hands and saved them for a rainy day and fed them to their children so they would never forget.
Never forget what they could survive.
Tell the story they said.
Pass it on, so these marks on my back mean something.
Lord.
Tell my story; how we birthed this Nation we were forced to plow.
We are not cattle. You are not animals.
You are a King strong and powerful.
You are not uneducated.
You are a Queen lively and beautiful.
Lord.
Pass it on.
Let them know that this blood in you is the same blood in them.
The milk that I fed you is the same that I gave them.
Let them know that it was more than a joy ride.
No, it was not a pleasure cruise.
It was hell on wheels.
But we made it through.
Rough times and rocky roads.
No shoes and little clothes.
Nothing fancy we just jumped over the broom.
Strong family united from the womb to the tomb.
Tell them baby, tell my story.
Pass on your heritage of Oshun and Yemenya.
Tell of your roots of Hannibal and Shaka Zulu.
Tell them.
Let them know that they will never possess the power to steal your glow.
Lord.
Tell them my story.
Feed it to them forcibly and hold it down for them.
Make it known around the world who I am so these welts on my back and scars on my hands mean something.
Let them know, so the next time they want to call Black Women “Nappy headed Hos” they will think twice.
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Thanks ya'll for putting up with my venting. As always critisism is always welcome.
Peace
IAMNOTANIGGA
3 comments:
OK, so I know you know that I am loving this!!! I appreciate the dedication & would love to feature this piece on my blog, with you permission of course.
Now that Imus is fired, I am ready to see what's next. Yes, we have killed his career (temporarily) but what are we going to do about the Nelly's, Jay-Z's, Snoop Dogg's of the world??? We need some serious change within our community for real so that when shit jumps off like this we do not look like fools & are not blamed for our cultural issues. Email me about the poem.
Peace,
Bygbaby
I'm glad you like it and yes you can post it on your blog.
And with all this stuff going on about Imus we are coming off as hypocrites. All these people are boycotting with that "we can say it but you can't" mentality. Like I always say, no one will respect you if you don't respect yourself. That goes for everything. And I hate to say it, but I am sure that all of those women on that basketball team at one time have called a female that they consider a friend a bitch or ho. And if they say they never have, they are lying. That by no means makes what Imus said okay, but it all goes back to respect. We have to demand it from Black people just like we do from White people.
Peace,
IAMNOTANIGGA
Found your magnificent poem on Bygbaby's blog. Just had to tell you it was something important and very powerful.
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