End Word: A Poem (text and video)

-

"Nigga" is a spoken word...
A poem I wish I never heard
A haiku that tastes like a lollipop or butterscotch
With a bubble in it that cuts the roof of your mouth when you suck too hard on it

"Nigga" swirls an effervescent tingle at the back of your throat,
Before it backflips quick off the palette like a gymnast

Yet I wince, 
Every time I see white folks hear me and my niggas saying it

We use "nigga" like a slave masters last name
Both lies about our past – that we adopt anyway

"Nigga" hangs in our mouth like niggas hung in the south



"Nigga" is a culture cut off from its glory
So we make up a kunta kinte or kwanza story

"Nigga" is tale of regret with too many forgotten sequels
Like the one titled:
"White People First Bought Black People From Other Black People"

Funny how "niggas" think misspelled vernacular makes a word better...
Funny how "niggas" are not supposed to use words like vernacular...

See "niggas" be like blind mice
See how they/we run,
See us sell crack to our own color
Sometimes to our own mothers

Cuz "niggas" are near sighted and desensitized
Can’t see the blood streaming from the diamond eyes of their Jesus piece

But "niggas" do shine some times...
Though we only seem to get recognized
Playing the roles of mammies, slaves, butlers, and maids…

"Nigga" is the separate but unequal legacy of minorities force fed inferiority

And just look at what they market to "niggas":
Menthols, fake hair, cheap ass malt liquor

But aint we supposed be free?
Free to especially employ the jargon of Jim crowed jigaboos
Free to trade our acres in for 40 ounces and drug mules,
While the revolution gets postponed
A trade for free agent contracts, record deals, million dollar homes?

See invisibility is not the devil's greatest trick
It’s convincing "niggas" that there’s wisdom hidden in ignorance

But maybe one day we’ll have ourselves a funeral 
And bury "nigga" in a plot-
Next to the one they tryna dig in for "Redskins"

That will be the day when we’ve stopped
Forging justifications for linguistic self- mutilation

A day we let go of
“We’re-taking-the-hate-out-of-the-word” claims,
 When we stop using apostrophe's and liquor brands for our kids names,
When we stop thinking the Underground Railroad had a goddamn train

A day to come when"niggas" pull more weight than they push

And pull less on triggers,

Making "nigga" a poem whose verses are fading away into a whisper

When "niggas" finally find their destiny and become 5/5ths free,

And turn oh-so finely into:

PEOPLE…



(c) Taj Ashaheed, 2013





         

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Manifest

-
Image
I am going to talk I've been back to prison for parole revocations twice now, because I was upfront, vocal, and honest about why I first went to prison in 2013. Simply put, I went because my ex-wife Dominique made false claims of domestic violence against me. Claims that began falling apart as my case progressed. However, in the middle of my marital turmoil, I made attempts at reconciling with Dominique, despite the fact of being barred from interacting with her by automatic protection order. That love-blind decision came back to bite my behind when, as her hoax began to unravel, the DA salvaged her prosecution by filling 19 cases of misdemeanor violation of protection order. I was literally facing an unprecedented 19 years in the county jail. It seemed improbable, if not absurd, until another local defendant made news being sentenced to an unprecedented county jail sentence of over 10 years. Long story short, I took a deal for an "open" sentence, expecting proba...
Read more

Jujitsu: A Love Story

-
Image
Over a decade ago several brothers and I were conducting a fitness-and-fellowship class at our masjid (mosque) on Denver’s Eastside. Our program was a mixture of a physical, often times grueling regimen of workout routines and kenpo karate drills, along discussions, debates, and homework/essays about Islam, spirituality and self-improvement. Many of us who participated fondly remember the program to this day (and intend to resurrect it soon). One weekend morning, our brother Curtis happened upon the class and after observing for a time, pulled me to the side and asked me what I knew about jujitsu. At the time, I had little idea that Curtis was a Brazilian Jujitsu black belt instructor at a well-known school in Aurora. I told him I knew only what I saw on TV, watching UFC fights.   Then Curtis said these fateful words: “Let me show you something…”
Read more

About This Dream...

-
Image
The Universe always speaks and sometimes we are given a brief ability to listen. Tonight, I got a message… It was actually a 3-part message that culminated tonight. The first part was sent earlier today – I was in a meeting with a community-based organization and one of the ladies there shook my hand and remarked how soft my skin was. No biggie except that everyone in the office rolled with laughter as I stood there embarrassed – I mean, I’m a pretty manly dude (I think), heck, even a fighter, so I don’t imagine having soft hands, not the kind that get remarked on. Now let’s backtrack a bit to several months ago, while I was in prison. I got an online generated message from an old friend, “Rose” (not her real name), totally out of the blue.   Rose and I really don’t know each other but we have been friends for nearly 20 years. We have never met face to face or even had a direct conversation. We met originally on a couple religious message boards run by MSN, way back wh...
Read more