(Lyrics and poems)
composed and created
By: REYES
Apocalyptic Dream
My thought patterns are mad versatile
I was born a prophet prodigy child
From the planet of many styles
It was there that I experienced
My epiphany, my awakening
To the things unseen
The Creator of all things
Came to me in a dream
Hit my soul with a heavenly beam
And I stood a new being
We sat and had a conversation
She told me “my son open your mind to the book of Revelation
There will be two great nations
One power will not appreciate the differences of my creations
There will be many spoken contradictions
Human on human afflictions
Evils caused by man’s addictions
There will be fear of the end of civilization
A unit that can relay messages to every .com, TV, and radio station
And one of the two great nations
Will succumb to the other’s visualization
Of how my world should be”
I yelled out, “LORD, WHAT CAN I DO TO
DESTROY THESE EVILS BEFORE ME?”
She replied, “Hush my child there is more to my prophecy,
Many will claim to be me
Children will be
Slaves and labor for free
Humanity
Will ignore the cries of poverty
And they will say ‘One Nation Under God’,
Only everyone won’t see it that way
The world will have to worry about
Nuclear war, acid rain, and the sky turning gray
The daily pounding of violence and urban decay
Whole peoples will kneel and pray
While others will inhale cancer
Never to place death upon the ash tray
Babies will be conceived and killed on the same day
Children will play
Oblivious to racism but they won’t stay
That way
Soon they will be infected by man’s society
Religious theology, political policy and sly-cology.”
I fell to my knees and said,
“O LORD, O LORD,
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, TELL ME
ARMAGEDDON IS IT UPON US?
THE ANTI-CHRIST, IS HE AMONG US?”
And that’s when I stood to my feet
And realized the truth
the anti-Christ is from us….
Could have Been
Bang! the shots rang out
For all to hear
Gun powdered filled air
The smoke cleared
A child lay dead
Bullet ridden, blood drippin’
Paint the sidewalk red
One less to worry about
Bang! the shots rang
For one to hear
A child sits in the back
Of a cop car
Bullet shootin’, blood dripper
He painted the sidewalk red
One less to worry about
Bang! the shots rang
For us to hear
He was not the target
Just an innocent by stander that was it
He knew love from birth
Nurtured to be somebody
Now he is just a body
Told he was a good kid
Sat in front of the class
Played sports
Daddy said he could be
whatever he wanted
he could have been
a teacher
a lawyer
or the
President
Bang! the shots rang
For you to hear
Born into racist injustices
and he was the target
Just an innocent by stander, that was it
He never knew love
Was given to the state at birth
Drug addicted mother tried
But he went back and forth
Drugs where her love
Told he would never be nobody
Now he is just a body
Of the state prison system
Told he was a bad influence on others
Sat in the back of the class
If he went to class
Played the sports of the streets
The OG’s said he could
Make some real money
A murdering spic punk
he could have been
a teacher
a lawyer
or the
President
Erica saw the World in One Color
I can remember her name was Erica a pretty brown skinned girl
She had two children Tinisha and Anthony they were her whole world
But Erica had many secrets she would hold
For her lifetime and she never told
I would see her often over by the laundry mat
It would be the hottest of days
We would just sit back in the shade drink a Pepsi and chat
She would go on about her dreams and how she wanted
A man with money and drove a baby blue Cadillac
“A money-hungry ho,” many called her
How often they forgot she was someone’s daughter
At least at one time.
It was cool with me though I understood her logic
And why cash was what she gloried
I knew the secrets that she held inside and I knew her story
You see Erica’s dad used to beat her
Her mother angry ‘cause she was born
Would mistreat her
Leave her at home alone at the age of two
And not feed her
So Erica spent most of her growing up
On her own
Soon her house was a broken home
‘Cause as daddy would say, “Love to bone
Any bitch that is open.”
Erica soon fell into depression
Dropped out of school and said “Fuck the lessons!”
At the age of thirteen she started laying with
Any fast-talking hustler who would have her
By fifteen she was with this abusive cat that
Stabbed her
There was no one around to tell her to leave him
Anyway she wouldn’t have listened
She was too in love with new clothes, cash
And shiny things that glistened
And for those things on a daily
She was beat into submission
Her belly began to grow
Sixteen with a child she didn’t know what to do
But Erica saw the world in one color and that color was blue
Erica contemplated abortion
But her man wanted a son
She had no choice but to give him one
But when she gave birth to Tinisha
Her man was on the run
She went to the hidden stash
For money but there was none
All the drug money was with ‘em
And the days passed and turned to weeks
He soon turned up but with
Five holes in his skull from the blast of a gun
Erica had a child to take care of and another one
On the way but it was lack of education
That led to her next situation
Things were cool for a moment
But she was strippin’
And the stresses of being a single mother
Had her trippin’
Barely grippin’
A sense of reality
Soon man’s greed
Supplied her need
And with a child to feed
Her seed
Became second
‘Cause mommy Erica had a new passion
She was a slave to it
And without it she received a slave lashin’
Her life was crashin’ with no hope in sight
Her lips stuck to a pipe
Gave birth and they were both addicted
To crack cocaine and could barely manage to fight
And despite her affliction
She needed help, that she knew
But Erica only saw the world in one color and that color was blue
And, years passed Erica’s neglect toward
Her children came grew worse and worse
And they were taken by the state
But it was much too late
They had been exposed to the streets
High teen pregnancy and crime rate
And inside them grew hate
Felt they could trust no one
And anyway no one could relate
It was about that same time to date
That Erica had turned to the oldest profession
What was a one time thing took a progression
And soon became a daily session
More and more drugs were the only thing
That eased her depression
Drugs became God and she prayed to them
On a daily basis
Slept with men unprotected and
Never remembered faces
Soon she started to show traces
Of death
So she went and got tested for immune deficiency
The test was positive but like many
She did not believe in the test’s accuracy
She thought it could not be true
But it didn’t matter ‘cause
Erica only saw the world in one color and that color was blue
Erica would lay out on the street and just stare
Receive nasty glares
Because of the way she looked
Her tattered clothes and dirty hair
She begged for money but no one wanted to hear
No one wanted to care
She was forgotten because like they say
“Life is not fair.”
There she laid
Stayed
And paid the greatest price of life
Death alone
She was no longer a mother daughter aunt or wife
And Tinisha, Erica’s first born
Was pregnant with a daughter of her own
The cycle was inevitable and was destined to continue
And when her baby girl was born she too
Only saw the world in one color and that color was blue
God Cried Red
In the beginning when woman and man were nothing more than in
The imagination of the Creator
There was an unreal peace over all the inhabitants of the Earth
And yet God wanted to be loved and cherished
So in her own image she created woman
And man to sit alongside each other as caretakers of the Earth
And amidst all the creations of her heart
She placed man and woman above all and gave them free will
But alas, out of mankind’s free will came the ability to question
And from the tree of knowledge came the evils of man’s heart
And God Cried Red
Over time man multiplied and no longer saw each other as brothers
But as intruders on land that God created for all creatures
And man did not listen to the one Creator
Now man made their own gods and died for stone
Man died for land that was not theirs to own
Man took up weapons of stone and bone
And killed over the land that God created
For them to share
And God Cried Red
For the blood shed
She cried for the dead
In the heart of man there always existed
The potential to realize the truth
But man had developed religion
And now man died for religion
And killed for principle and for power
And again man went to war
Throughout the land metal swords and iron shields
Clanged and cut through flesh and bone
Brother against brother, clan against clan, and tribe against tribe
And man died from the hate of himself
Suffering was imposed on those who were weak
Whole peoples enslaved
Nations rose to power
To rule with the edge of a blade
And the Earth soaked with red from the blood of man
And Again God Cried Red
For the blood shed
She cried for the dead
Over time man developed and created more weapons
Of war and destruction
From stones and spears, bows and swords, shields and crossbows
Came a black powder and from that powder came muskets, cannons, and rifles
All over Earth man killed and plundered
For religion, principle, country and in the name of God conquered nations
And God Cried Red
For the blood shed
She cried for the dead
And again, once again man developed
And created weapons and machines of mass destruction
And man killed and imprisoned and murdered one another
Only this time the toll of death was like never before seen
The whole world went to war twice in less than forty years
From the rifle came rapid firing rifles developed into machine guns
And from steel and iron came machines never before seen
Jeeps, tanks, and planes’ missiles and land mines, grenades
Bombs, and a weapon so horrific
It could destroy all of creation by the push of a button
In the time it takes you to blink
And Again God Cried Red
For the blood shed
She cried for the dead
And man developed more and more advanced weapons of mass destruction
Man created missiles that could be fired thousands of miles away
Jets that fly high into space, nuclear submarines to sit quietly on the ocean bottom,
Made cities to float on the sea ready for a full assault,
Chemicals, germs, and biotechnologies
To infect enemy nations, man developed machines to kill with no conscience, satellites to hear the enemy
And man trusted no one
And Again God Cried Red
For the blood shed
Only this time she did not cry for the dead
But for the living and what was ahead
Influential
War games enemy of the state
While the lost wait
For evil to open hell’s gate
I organize and congregate
Contemplate and prepare to participate
in the fight to end all hate
Many say, “Let’s eat from the same plate.”
I say, “Fuck that let’s create
A new slate
A new state of mind.”
Pay attention to detail
Many of the messages are hidden and sublime
Need to rewind
Seek out and find
In order to reach the divine, existence
I stay persistent never ritualistic
Free your mind and the rest will follow
Always watch for predators on the prowl
Make sure to say everyday I will
Change what I can
Be who I am
Stay true to myself
And watch for the theories of man
Accept the Creator’s plan
Never fall to the scam
Of organized religion
It will lead you to a spiritual prison
Self-destruction an inner cataclysm
We keep ourselves trapped
Not realizing our true potential
The growth of our people is exponential
Too many of us are resentful
I focus on reaching the land of plentiful
Always use my mental
To relay my messages continental
Thought patterns never sequential
Just think how you can change the world
With a note book and pencil
It’s cool to be rich
But I’d rather be influential
Man with no Name
I touch pen to paper
let my voice be heard
in search of the true word
of God
got me wonderin’
about the situation that we in
when will it all end
they tell me the end is near
but what is it that I should fear
a tear in the lonely night
my mind takes flight
in search for the light
but I can’t lie to my sight
by what I see
through the façade of a fake democracy
monetary units
got young livin’ dead blastin’ with no hope
young babies born hooked on dope
shorties dieing over the sales of coke
eyes only seen through the gun smoke
and yet I must maintain
just a pawn in this worldly game
who’s to blame
from the east they came
and the savages in the name
of God they wanted to tame
and for spain
and all of europe Our land they claimed
and brought tribes in chains
to work the rugged terrain
and so I am left a man colonized with no name
and so I am left a man with no name
branded my blood by Spanish rule
very apparent by my white skin and the green
eyes I see the world through
the truth is hard to swallow
but how can you swallow if you can’t even chew
born into confusion with out a clue
of what to do
only seeing the world in blue
left with no options what would you do
I question our very existence, what does it all mean
all that I’ve seen
walking life with no legs on a wobbly high beam
pain agony, hate, venom and rage is all that exists
at least at times that’s what it seems
every corner a new scheme
your vision must be keen
or you will be swept away by the wrong team
but who’s to say who’s wrong or right
I am just one of many prepared to fight
for universal human rights
I am blinded by the light
yet I can’t see at night
but I can’t lie to my sight
and despite
the evil games corporations and governments play
I must find my way
take the struggle day by day
in these times you can be killed by what you say
but if left unsaid I would rather be dead
but if left unsaid I would rather be dead
the truth shall set you free
at least that’s what was taught to me
yet Adam ate from the tree
of knowledge and was locked out
of the paradise with no key
knowledge of self-history
gives you identity
which is more powerful
then any gun, any weapon, any army
its combat of the mind
this system depending on us to commit crime
to kill each other so our population may decline
my ancestries traveled through time
told me to put it in rhyme
watch for there signs
seek out and find
be prepared to climb
in order to reach the divine
Reality got me hurtin’
uncertain
for what the future of our youth will be
caught up in a cycle of poverty
of drug abuse, needles with HIV
robbery
lost sense of community
government dependency
bull shit practice of equality
erased history
ghetto misery
killin’ for currency
no identity three strikes
lock you up that’s just policy
wait god will save us theology
tyranny
a false sense of security
that we are free
roots with a cut down tree
lock with a broken key
lost responsibility
a constitution built on hypocrisy
lies built over democracy
internal anger directed towards you and me
born with two eyes but still can’t see
that this the land of opportunity
was squeezed from our peoples blood
by land robbery
forced factory for industry
labor for free in the 13 colonies
slavery, outright brutality
population control
put you in the penitentiary
constantly constantly
reminding you of
a created inferiority
this land is your land
this land is my land
manifest destiny
disregarded humanity
time to create our own realities
Me
Born in a place called S A G Nasty
Grandson of farm workers
and grandparents who worked the assembly
line of the automotive industry
my story
starts with lost memories
of my identity
colonized by the cross
of so called spanish nobility
in their reflection I see me
but still considered a brown man
even with my white skin privilege
I will never fit in to what the European
Has created
In the so-called Americas I was born
English my first tongue
Spanish was shunned
Because to be successful
You must forget where you are from
No temples no culture no civilization
As a child I knew I was Mexican
But never knew what that meant
Forgotten in one generation
Were the days of work
Only to sleep in a tent
Now days everything is good
Even though my moms and pops
had to work everyday to pay the rent
And work is what they did
Cause when I was born
They were both still kids
not told much on their relationship
I do remember my mom dropping me off
To work early in the morning in the fields
That’s just the way it was
Did not understand the meaning
Behind the mask
My pops after two years in school
Just kept up the daily task
Of going to work
Driving forty-five miles a day
Each way
To get paid
Only to spend it away
On the necessities of a family
Both parents gave me love
Not a perfect family but it was us
One sister CeCe, three brothers, big Al, Steve and Gabriel,
so to school it was the bus
growing up in the belly of the beast
my vision started to change
starting to see things I could not explain
a teacher told me, question what you see!
gave me a few books on my history
and inside me a hate brewed
and from that a love for who
I truly was grew
Armed with the true facts
I started to attack
And never looked back
To chi I took rails on holy land
A system of wealth built
By brown Asians and Africans
And in the midst of the Daley machine
Our daily hurt
Our daily pain
The daily rains
My journey set me on Paseo Boricua
The Puerto Rican Passage
To build with my Boricua
Brothers and sisters
Dreams to build from the ash
Of the forgotten land of the sun
In my blood is the indigenous keeper
And the murdering system
So I look to the sky for inspiration
To guide my way
Something from deep within
Perhaps Zapata
Has me wanting to scream revolution
And in the midst
of our minds we are all searchin' for a solution
because we are losin'
our identities, histories, traditions, and children
we see a just world but we can’t seem to build one
and in all the knowledge and books
practicing this future is harder then it looks
on paper.
a world with no heaven or hell
No need for jails
Or guns that go BLAW
No racism
No prisons
With white men trying to fill em
With browns and blacks
No slums no addicts no crack
No nuclear war attacks
No making treaties and taking them back
No need for keeping track
Of borders
No warriors
No men raping daughters
No thieves
No need to escape with weed
No killin' our seed
No greed
No bombs or tanks
No news of a battle ship they sank
No hunger or famine
No death just life
No hate just love
That is a just love
We will feel no pain
And our natural selves
will walk the earth
I look out the window
Of the blue line and realize
It all still hurts
Morena De Mi Corazon
Morena the first color I knew
Before I even existed God selected that color for me
Morena de mi Corazon
She was the first color that held me close
The first color I loved
The first color that nurtured my growth
She was part of me and I of her
When I cried she comforted me
When I fell she lifted me
For nine months Morena was all I knew
Morena was me
Morena de mi Corazon
My first steps were with her
My first memories of life
I was attached to her
I could not bear to be apart from her
I would cry out if she left me to go to work
But rejoice when the older and wiser, but just as beautiful
Morena de mi Corazon
Held me, her face a darker brown
Shining with memories of raising twelve boys and three girls
Now this brown woman was helping in raising me
I can remember early morning breakfeast
Always freshly cooked homemade tortillas
Eggs frijoles and sometimes not so homemade Count Choculas
I was three when she started spitting up blood
Holding the bucket for her as she said, “Ahi mijo, I’ll be okay.”
I think that was the only English she knew
But sadly it was so long ago
I can’t really remember how much English she did speak
Yet I still cry at the thought of that memory
Morena de mi Corazon
I am not sure how much longer it was before she died
I know shortly after that moment I never saw her again
At the time being three I did not understand death
I just sat on Morena’s lap
As this young and beautiful color cried so many tears of sorrow
It drained the very happiness of her soul
And I did nothing but sit
It was not until a few days later when I realized
The older and wiser color was never coming back
That I cried
I often sit and wonder how this older and wiser color
Would be now
What she could have taught me, what we would laugh about
And what memories we would have now
But like all strong colors they over time
Fade away and are nothing more than memories
Of the past
It has taken me seventeen years to come to terms with this
And again all I can do is cry
Morena de mi Corazon
Time passed and Morena was all around me
From tias to cousins to second cousins
And in school there was a whole new type of Morena
And again it was the first color I loved
I would see her by my locker, in front of me,
Sitting behind me, on the playground and
On the way home from school and this Morena
Had shades as dark as coffee with no cream
To as light as the cream itself
And let me tell you I enjoyed tasting every flavor
Of cappuccino and mocha on the menu
Morena de mi Corazon
Morena this evil color broke my heart
She played with my emotions
At times she was the most beautiful color ever seen
But this evil color that I had come to love so dear
Cheated on me
I hated her down to my very existence
My heart torn
Not sure what to do
“I don’t love you!” I would yell
For what you have done
I can no longer live
But then again Morena entranced me
With her music, with her fruit
And her overall loyalty ensured me to
Trust her
Morena de mi Corazon
Soon she was an obsession
Her curves, her scent, her taste
Like no other known to exist in all of creation
Morena was like a color never seen, a fragrance never smelled
Or like skin that had never been touched
She was in my dreams and again I loved her
The way she danced to the rhythms of the world
How she lifted her eyes
Just enough to catch a glance of her beauty
And Morena was coveted by all men of the Earth
Morena, Morena, Morena
She gave birth to Che, to Cesar, to Tejarina, to Zeta Acosta to Benito Juarez
To kings in Africa, to children in the Middle East
Morena made by God, cleaned kitchens, mopped floors
And managed to raise doctors, lawyers
Engineers, writers, photographers
And still cooked tortillas frijoles and carnitas
All in the same day
Morena de mi Corazon
Worked in plants, in foundries, in factories
Worked the fields as good as any man, if not better
She crossed the border by river, by land, by ocean
Had the border move on her
Gave birth to revolutions, artists, philosophers
To ancient astronomers
Civilizations advanced in mathematics, in architecture
Raised her rifle to France, to America, to Spain
Morena endured rape, slavery,
The stigma of no social status
She was good enough to fuck
But not to take home to mommy and daddy
She was beat, abused, hooked on dope, smack
And crack
She was cheated on
Put up with your punk ass only dating White girls
She went to war with you
Held down the house
Made the food you eat
Gained weight so you could have a family
Had her chest sag just so you could grow and be healthy
Did your laundry and the Jones’ to make a few extra dollars
She went to law school got her bachelors, her masters,
Became a doctor, a lawyer, president of a corporation,
Started her own business, fought fires, opened minds
Became a poet, an artist, a congresswoman, a teacher
Morena, Morena, Morena
Made love to me!
Morena de mi Corazon
For all that I love you.
My Sin
A picture of two that should have been three
I pray to God every day that you may forgive me
I was young blind and could not see
I had a false sense of reality
If you can hear this please, please don’t blame mommy
This is my plea
Yes it’s true she was my light and my life
I was just too immature to ask her to be my wife
So what was she supposed to do?
Fifteen years old carrying my seed
Which I had no money to clothe or feed
I could not supply to either of your needs
All kinds of thoughts raced through my mind
“I need to find a solution.” I can remember thinkin’
I was in an ocean of thought and sinkin’
“PLEASE LORD, I would yell out,
HELP ME GET THE HELL OUT!”
But where do I go?
Too ashamed to go to church,
But it seemed the only place I found peace
I wanted to cease
To exist
Hoping and praying when I reached heaven
I would be on God’s list
And there you would be an angel to greet me with
A forgiving kiss
Until then I will have to miss
All that could have been
Because of my sin.
People See
Many times people see what they want to see
Their perception of reality is dictated by the industry
So if you are blind, I’m -a let you be blind
But if you can see, step to the light and open your mind
The true meaning of life
Analyzed, surmised, concentrated, recreated,
The theory of this, that, and the other
Like is this man or that man my brother?
Caught up in the thinking game
Like who’s to blame,
Who’s to shame,
And who set the first flame?
Who are the real thieves, the real criminals
The dirty politicians and corporations
Who did their stealing subliminal?
Hypocrisy, animosity, racial tensions between you and me
The world turns unhealed wounds burn
Under the ash comes generations yearn
A force-unwilling if you will
Not to rape, rob, shoot, or steal
A lyrical poet whose mission is to stimulate
Contemplate, educate, and reiterate
The mission of the mind
Many times people see what they want to see
Their perception of reality is dictated by the industry
So if you are blind I’m-a let you be blind
But if you can see step to the light and open your mind
Dr. King, is your dream still alive?
Jim Crow and Willie Lynch still seem to thrive
More subtle now days wouldn’t dare say nigger or spic
But the game is more like a magic trick
It’s an illusion to the American Dream
Credit card debt, no money for school
it turns to the American scheme
‘Cause things always aren’t what they seem
And at times I just want to scream!
But you really can’t say how you feel
Or censorship won’t cut you no record deal
And my brethren out on the street fight for a hot meal
And as our prisons fill
We keep staking concrete and steel
But like the wheel it all comes back around
The revolution will be won on the underground
It’s time to break the chains of five hundred years of oppression
Pick up a book and learn your own lessons
How easily we are forgotten in history
‘Cause his-story is for his glory
And you won’t see me celebrate Columbus Day
‘Cause Columbus didn’t make no damn discovery
And I am supposed to accept one chapter
For thousands of years of civilization
“O let’s thank the Europeans alone for establishing this great nation,”
When browns, Blacks, people of color have been its foundation
Since its creation
I ain’t speaking hate I am talking knowledge
All this coming from someone with one semester of college
It doesn’t take much to learn
But it’s hard to earn the respect of others
But that’s the problem, no respect for the past or the present
Delores Huerta, Cesar Chavez, Corky Gonzales
Brother Malcolm, all on the front line of the movement
All helped spark a revolution
But who will take it to the next level
Who will drop the pebble
To cause a chain reaction
To start a new faction
And add to the old and create a new fraction?
Forty-one bullets rang out and nobody seemed to care
So you tell me that it’s fair
That a man is shot forty-one times and there is no repercussion to be seen anywhere
And a symbol of hate flies high above the capital of one of the states
And I get stared at when I go out on an so called interracial date
So if you think it’s all done and equal
I’ll see you during the second movement, ‘cause there will be a sequel
Many times people see what they want to see
Their perception of reality is dictated by the industry
So if you are blind, I’m-a let you be blind
But if you can see, step to the light and open your mind
Spoken contradictions, societal persecutions
Racist evolutions
Gave us Affirmative Action
To give us at the time satisfaction
We did not realize the long term back lashin’
Settled for crumbs
us the kings and queens of generations
Long before their duration
And yet we have the wrong mental contemplation
Catz steady smokin’ up crack and shootin’
Catz steady killin’ our own and lootin’
Need to get back to brother Malcolm, Huey P., Dr. King, Cesar Chavez,
and God to help ‘em
Thought the battle was won ‘cause we could drink from the same fountain
But that’s far from the equality that I am shoutin’
I’m talkin’ the browning of the whole United States Nation
I’m talkin’ ‘bout takin’ my brother and putting him on a T.V. station
I‘m talkin’ social elevation
Artistic creation
The rise of a forgotten generation
I ‘m talkin’ bout reverse cultural castration
I’m talkin’ systematic ghetto migration
I’m talkin’ ‘bout the flight to a higher elevation
I’ll see you when we reach that destination
Response to Those Who Say
“Let’s Take It Back to the Good Old Days.”
Let’s take it back to the good old days
Yes, let’s take it back to
When niggers and spics knew their place
When chinks were lined up
And placed in camps
When women of color were
Fast whores and tramps
When Hoover bugged Dr. King
By placing microphones in his hotel lamps
Let’s take it back to when
The CIA placed hundreds of Cubans
On a certain bay
And let them be slain
And then say
“O we had nothing to do with it,
It was what they,
What they wanted.”
Let’s take it back to
Commie sympathizer witch hunts
Let’s take it back to black lists
Let’s take it back to government control
Segregation because of pigmentation
Let’s take it back to the control of a islands
Population through sterilization
Let’s take it back to when bullets flew
When Kennedy’s brain was splattered
When Dr. King’s skull was opened
When brother Malcolm’s soul left
Cause of conspiracies buried in files and codes
Let’s take it back to small Black children
Being sprayed on the streets of the U.S.
Attacked by dogs
Spit on like Christ was by bigots
Let’s take it back to chemical
Insecticides used to grow healthy crops
And infected my family
My uncles
My grandparents
Who worked for under minimum wage
Like slaves they labored in the sun
To be infected by cancer
Yes, let’s take it back to the Zoot-Suit Riots
Where America’s Navy raped our women
Beat our men all in the name of defense
Yes let’s take it back to
When the only face of beauty was White
When Latino actors were forced to say they
Were Italian
When Mulatto mixed children said they
Were not Black
Yes, let’s take it back to when the only act
On the big screen that depicted
People of color was about
Sex, violence, or ignorance
Let’s take it back to when Bruce Lee
Was forced to wear a mask because
Of his slanted eyes
And millions yelled out to the Green Hornet
Let’s take it back to when Blacks
Could not play in the NBA
Before Iverson, before Jordan and Zeek
Before Magic, before Dr. J, before the Ice Man
Before Wilt and Russell
Let’s take it back to the good old days
When millions of Americans went
Overseas to fight wars
Only to return in body bags
And because they were not White
Could not be buried in the
Cemeteries that they died to keep
Let’s take it back to when
The government introduced Heroin
To the streets of Harlem
To the streets of Los Angeles
Let’s take it back to when jazz was monkey music
Back to Black face
Uncle Tom, yes massa mentalities
Let’s take it back to when masters raped slaves
When Thomas Jefferson had a
Love affair with one of his own
Let’s take it back to the possibility
That Abraham Lincoln was half Black
Let’s take it back to cowards hiding
Behind sheets setting crosses a blaze
Let’s take it back to governmental testing
On minorities to see the outcome of A.I.D.S.
Let’s take it back to the Treaty of Guadalupe
Forty acres and a mule
Let’s take it back to the Red Man
Being infected by small pox from blankets
Given to him by the U.S. of A.
Let’s take it back to no questions
Everything you see reality
Dogma of the age
Let’s take it back to when women were worth
Nothing, unable to vote, baby-making
Cooking tortillas, greens “just lay there”
As I bust time and time again
Let’s take it back to Vietnam
When men and women bled and bled
and bled
That’s why when I hear people say
“Let’s Take it Back to the Good Old Days,”
I say, FUCK THAT! NO WAY!
The good old days weren’t as
Good as they say
WE ARE (Lyrics and poems)
composed and created
By: REYES
We Are
We are the wretched of the Earth
The labor that moves the sand
We are spics, niggers, wetbacks, beaners and pork chops
We are U.S. treaty failure
We are barrio dwellers
Culture creators cut across communal skies
We are loving abuelos, abuelas
We are community builders stopping gentrification
We are presos politicos
We are freedom fighters
We are present farms, urban harvest
We are the children of Latin America
Bastardly speaking forgotten in a new land and ancient land
We are the children of African slaves,
Indigenous blood and Spanish conquest
We are Irish, German, Arab, Jewish, Muslim
We are the grandchildren of
Simon Bolivar. The children of
the Virgen de Guadalupe
We are the children of Pancho Villa
And Zapata, of Che, of
Adelita, of Lolita Lebron we are
The children, of the Zapatistas
We are the children of Latin America
Excited to oblivion
We are love compassion and hope
We are Cesars, Huelga, and Si Se Puede!
We are Lolita, shots on Congress
We the Brown Berets and the Chicano movement
We the Young Lords
We are the Cuban people in ’59
We are Venezuelan and the Bolivarian Revolution
We are Nuyorican Poets penning
Puerto Rican Pride
We are undocumented peoples crossing
Borders breaking boundaries and barriers
We are separated families split by
Concrete thrones made of steel
We are Zocalo and Batey Urbano in Chicago
We Boricua, Chicano, Chicana, Chi-Rican,
Mexicano, Puertoriqueno, Dominicano, Central Americano,
Mexi-Rican. Latino Chi-cano
We are breakers, DJ’s, MC’s,
Painting poems on walls
We are despised, hated, loved, exoticised
We, faces in the crowds at marches
Against the war in Afghanistan, in Iraq, in Palestine
We are those who stand along side
Blacks for free our people from modern day slavery
We are Christ, Moses, and Quetzequatal and Tonantzin
We are the sun that shines bright
We are unified communities chanting
“Boricua, Mexicano Luchando Mano a Mano!”
We are a new American dream
We are those who create love from hate,
Hope from despair, compassion from none,
And humility from arrogance
We are those who say live and help to live
We are 500 years of resistance
Welcome to America
Welcome too the New World
Lolita You May Cry Now
Poem for Puerto Rico National heroine Lolita Lebron,
she served over 25 years in prison as a political prisoner and refused to cry
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the oppressed
Hungry for food, knowledge and hope
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the millions upon millions
Of the indigenous peoples of the Americas
Tears for those names, languages, customs and cultures
We will never know
Lost like the leaves that fall into the streams and rivers
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the African slaves that were
Chained, shackled, raped and whipped
Their backs dripping with red tear drops of their own
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for those who worked and toiled
Tears of sweat dripping into the soil they bled to cultivate
So others could prosper from the suffering of others
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the massacres, broken treaties, diseases,
Death and stolen land and nature
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the murdered Mexicans lynched, hung, dragged, cut, and shot
In the southwest of the United States
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for those who worked the large sugar
And coffee plantations and never had a chance to taste either
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the cries of independence and freedom on September 16th 1810
Grito de Dolores
Tears for the Grito de Lares September 23rd 1868
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for Betances and Segundo Ruiz Belvis
And for all of those who fought tyranny injustice and treachery
Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the prisoners of war in 1898
Tears for Albizu Campos in and out of prison for more than 25 years
Tears for the radiation his body was exposed to like
Children of Vieques crying contaminated tears for lost souls
Tears for the POWs of 1954 and 1980
For Rafael Cancel Miranda, Andres Figueroa Cordero,
Irving Flores Rodriguez
Tears for Alejandrina Torres, Carlos Alberto Torres,
Oscar Lopez Rivera and all the prisoners of war from the movement
Tears for all those that gave us vision through the rough storms
Steady and calm they steered us clear
Tears for Juan Antonio Corretjer, for Consuelo Lee Corretjer
And tears for our beloved mystic Jose Lopez
The love for his people shown in the humblest of ways
From the picking up of trash to the enormous vision he puts forth
And tears for those that make up our community
Tears for those in this space the Batey Collective
The people I call my comrades my closest and dearest friends
The people that have helped me feel human once again
Tears for those who are faces in the crowd at actions against
The occupation of Palestine, and Iraq
And tears for the people of Vieques voices unheard
Tears for the undocumented workers that toil in the belly of the beast
With no rights with vocal chords that have been ripped out
Tears for Cuba, Venezuela, Brazil, and Chiapas,
For they stand in the shadow of a giant
And do not budge from what is just, right and equal
And tears for you Lolita tears for you strength, endurance, and constant resistance
Yes Lolita you may cry now
Tears for the time away from loved ones
Tears for the times they tried to break you
And you stood fearless
Challenging the empire
Standing like a mountain against a hurricane’s attack
Tears for the times you could not feel the warmth of the sun
Or the warmth of a loving hand
Tears for the lost memories
Tears to fill the ocean’s depth
Tears for all those time you wanted to cry but could not would not
To show them that you were unbreakable
Lolita you may cry now
Tears of sadness and tears of joy because our freedom will come
Lolita you may cry now
and if you can not
you are home
and we will cry for you
Man with no Name
I touch pen to paper
let my voice be heard
in search of the true word
of God
got me wonderin’
about the situation that we in
when will it all end
they tell me the end is near
but what is it that I should fear
a tear in the lonely night
my mind takes flight
in search for the light
but I can’t lie to my sight
by what I see
through the façade of a fake democracy
monetary units
got young livin’ dead blastin’ with no hope
young babies born hooked on dope
shorties dieing over the sales of coke
eyes only seen through the gun smoke
and yet I must maintain
just a pawn in this worldly game
who’s to blame
from the east they came
and the savages in the name
of God they wanted to tame
and for spain
and all of europe Our land they claimed
and brought tribes in chains
to work the rugged terrain
and so I am left a man colonized with no name
and so I am left a man with no name
branded my blood by Spanish rule
very apparent by my white skin and the green
eyes I see the world through
the truth is hard to swallow
but how can you swallow if you can’t even chew
born into confusion with out a clue
of what to do
only seeing the world in blue
left with no options what would you do
I question our very existence, what does it all mean
all that I’ve seen
walking life with no legs on a wobbly high beam
pain agony, hate, venom and rage is all that exists
at least at times that’s what it seems
every corner a new scheme
your vision must be keen
or you will be swept away by the wrong team
but who’s to say who’s wrong or right
I am just one of many prepared to fight
for universal human rights
I am blinded by the light
yet I can’t see at night
but I can’t lie to my sight
and despite
the evil games corporations and governments play
I must find my way
take the struggle day by day
in these times you can be killed by what you say
but if left unsaid I would rather be dead
but if left unsaid I would rather be dead
the truth shall set you free
at least that’s what was taught to me
yet Adam ate from the tree
of knowledge and was locked out
of the paradise with no key
knowledge of self-history
gives you identity
which is more powerful
then any gun, any weapon, any army
its combat of the mind
this system depending on us to commit crime
to kill each other so our population may decline
my ancestries traveled through time
told me to put it in rhyme
watch for there signs
seek out and find
be prepared to climb
in order to reach the divine
Reality got me hurtin’
uncertain
for what the future of our youth will be
caught up in a cycle of poverty
of drug abuse, needles with HIV
robbery
lost sense of community
government dependency
bull shit practice of equality
erased history
ghetto misery
killin’ for currency
no identity three strikes
lock you up that’s just policy
wait god will save us theology
tyranny
a false sense of security
that we are free
roots with a cut down tree
lock with a broken key
lost responsibility
a constitution built on hypocrisy
lies built over democracy
internal anger directed towards you and me
born with two eyes but still can’t see
that this the land of opportunity
was squeezed from our peoples blood
by land robbery
forced factory for industry
labor for free in the 13 colonies
slavery, outright brutality
population control
put you in the penitentiary
constantly constantly
reminding you of
a created inferiority
this land is your land
this land is my land
manifest destiny
disregarded humanity
time to create our own realities
She
A Poem for Elvira Arellano
She the warrior
She the mother
She the fighter
Standing against all odds
Refusing to be an object
Of an unjust power structure
That yearns to objectify her
With the only object
Being that she is objected
To the pain of power
She who objects the same structure that
Values plastic and products
Over flesh and soul
She, fighting this new war
That is not new to us
She fighting with beautiful
Poetry of sanctuary
She warrior of the people
Fighting not for herself
That would be too easy
But fighting for all of those
Who have been
Pulled away by night
Stolen away from their children and families
Disappeared
Ripped apart from all that they know
Arrested and cuffed at work
Shipped away as if to be the products
They toiled to create
This country disinfecting this nation
Of what they believe to be a parasitic problem
As she, they, we, clean in their kitchens, their airports
Their homes, their restaurants, their streets, their churches
At gun point breaking into our
Homes with papers
That makes it legal to steal human life
She who is the reflection of Tonatzin
Of the Virgen
Of La Adelita
Of Emma
Of the Mexican people
She the reflection of us
Of me, of you, of we
She the reflection of our struggles
Our victories
She who gave her freedom
For more than a year
She who is facing and confronting
All that is unjust
Fighting the real
Illegalities of human rights
She who has fasted so others
Could eat
While yet others can feast
On the malnourishment
Of the rest of the world
she who blocked the
shining light of 50 white stars
taking their cosmic power
and exposing them
for the hypocrites that they are
like Huitzilopochtli consumed his brothers and sisters
She who bore the scars
Of 7 red stripes of modern day slavery
She who bore 6
white blisters on her hands and feet
From years of work
She who displayed
The dark blue bruises
Of brutal laws of man
She who brought those in power
To a standstill
She who made those powers
Have to face their fears
She who was crucified
apprehended giving her life voluntarily
with dignity, respect and honor
All the while knowing the risk involved
the sacrifices that had to be made
She who was resurrected
In every Mexican home
Etched into our consciousness
Our dreams
And in our resound resistance
She who inspired
the dreams of the dead
and woke the world
to beautiful yellow flowers
adorned with red roses
making believers out of non believers
like Juan Diego forced those
who did not want to understand
She the child separated from his mother
She the daughter in school paying full tuition
Not able to receive aid
She the man selling paletas
On every street corner
She the women selling tamales, mango, sandia
She the young man cooking
Making the best Mexican Italian
Chinese Greek food in the city
She the women taking care
of children that are not hers
She the young gang member
that has no hope
and sells drugs to his own people
his only option to live
She the loving father and mother
working two jobs each to pay the rent
She the young optimistic
Activist poet
Dreaming that they can still change
The world
She simultaneously her and us
they and we
The duality of
The Mexican soul
The living and dead
The Christian and the pagan
She very much her
But she very much us
She, Elvira Arellano
Mexican’s Revenge
Let me tell you a story of a people long ago
It has been passed from my ancestors from theirs and so on and so on
In the echo of a whisper a history managed to blow through
It hit my ear opened my eyes, made my mouth speak and my nostrils flair
Made me breathe so I can share with you tonight
on this holy land that the Illinois, Arawak, Algonquian, Blackfoot, Cree the
Fox, Apache, the Cherokee, Anasazi, the Iroquois, Potawatomi,
The Navajo, the Hopi, Shawnee
the Olmec, the Toltec, the Mayan, the Zapotec
the Mexica we the Aztecs, all the peoples of Mexico
We the Mexicans where born.
Conceived by the earth, rain, wind and the fire of our origins.
Long before Columbus, Hernando Cortez, Long before Spanish Lords
and land owners, before the ecomienda
Before rape, plunder, before religious persecution, before robbery,
before castration of our cultures and histories,
Long before tears of blood that rained down by a Spanish cross,
I meant sword, or cross
I often get them confused
Just as the Spanish did
Long before young children were raped
Breakin’ them open from the inside
Long before the desecration of a people
Before Genocide
Genocide, genocide
A land that we the Olmec, Mayan, Zapotec, Toltec, Mixtecs
The Mexica
We the Aztecs,
We the Mexicans were born
Whispered in the echoes of time
Long before Spanish rule, taxes, slavery
Before murdered Africans, thrown into the deep dark sea
Before those that escaped to maroons communities of resistance
Long before stolen gold, stolen land, people and labor
Long before Hidalgo’s bell ringing for independence
End dependence
Long before California, Colorado, Nuevo Mexico,
Texas, Arizona, Utah, Nevada where stolen
Long before the border was created and then was moved
Before Zapata, Pancho Villa, and even Madero
Long before railroads cut across ancient communal lands
Before industrialization, before European nations
Brought/stole
Native soil
Long before peasant farmer strikes
Before national resolutions
Long before guns in hand when the border was
nothing more then an invisible line blown away made of sand
Long before Bracero and day laborers
Long before mop and clean, clip trim and cut, sweep paint and wash
Long before go home spic, pick, pick, pick, tomatoes
Go home spic, pick pick, pick cucumbers
Go home spic, pick pick, pick strawberries and oranges and grapes and squash
Go home spic, pick pick, pick which child will go with you and which will stay,
Which will eat and which will go hungry
Go home spic, pick pick, pick who your babies will stay with
and what way to come back
Long before four families to a one room studio apartment,
extra compact version
Long before streets paved with gold with climates that are cold
Long before they are taking American jobs
Before Delores Huerta, Cesar Chaves, Rudy Lozano, Alejandro Molina, Emma
Lozano, Irma Romero, Elvira
Before the Brown Berets, and the Chicano Movement
Before school walk outs, farmer strikes
Before “Si Se Puede” before Chicano power
And Viva La Raza
Before “you got papers?”
“what papers?”
“What do I need papers for?”
”you need papers to get papers of course”
”Of course what I was thinking, I have no
papers so to get those papers I don’t have ,
I need to get those papers first”
”Yes exactly!”
Before undocumented, “you can’t get on the list for life saving surgery”
Before immigrants immigrants immigrants
Am I grant, Am I grant, Am I Granted
the right to live free in this my land that is our land
Am I granted freedom justice and equality
Before Alien from the planet Mexico,
Before illegal alien
Before Illegal A LIE AN
Before illegal is A LIE AND
There is no such thing as an illegal human
Because we are all born of this earth and this our resting place
Before all of this in the echo of a whisper
An echo of our history managed to blow through
Aztlan, Teotihuacan, Palenque, Tikal, Tula, Teotihuacan
See before all of this and that
our origins, our birthplace managed
to slip through in the echo of a whisper
Tenochtitlan slipped through in the collective memory of our souls
Its garden, enormous marketplace, running fountains,
Its great ball courts
Its spectacular temples, all managed to whisper to us then and now
Tonitzin goddess of the pagan natives
Transformed into the virgin saint of the people then and now
Dia de los Muertos, alters to our loved ones that passed into the afterworld
The Popol Vuh and its epic tales
The great temples to the sun and moon of Teotihuacán
The magnificent Olmec heads carved in stone to look at us for eternity
Ancient African rhythms and movements
All slipped through in the echo of a whisper
blown in the winds of our collective memory
I know you are asking “ I thought this was titled Mexican’s Revenge?
What kind of revenge is a echo of a whisper?”
Ha! But the story is not finished
It has just begun
You see the pinche gringos thought it was over when
they stole 51 percent of Mexico
they thought it was over
They did not realize that in Mexico there existed Mexicans
They overlooked that small fact
And when the border was moved we never respected it
They did not estimate 8 million “undocumented Mexicans” and another 28
million “legal” living in the empire of the united states
of the continent of north America
They did not expect a flow of people back and forth across their precious border
You see my friends
Wherever I go there we are
(say it with me) Wherever I go there we are
We more then just me
Cooking in the back of a Kitchen in New Orleans there we are
Organizing in communities in Pilsen, Little village, Humboldt Park,
Cicero, back of the yards there we are
In smaller cities such as Saginaw Michigan running monthly publications there
running a business in Detroit and Grand Rapids there we are
Working in hotels in New York,
running a small shop in Spanish Harlem there we are
Working in the fields in Indiana, Wisconsin and Ohio there we are
We have always been in what is called the South West
going to school, writing books, painting there we are
Working construction teaching in the schools of San Antonio and Houston
In the factories of Kentucky and the Carolinas there we are
Working in meat packing plants of Lexington and Grand Island Nebraska there we are
marching in Linken Heights crying “Viva Zapata” there we are
All over California there we are
All over the united states from North to South, Coast to Coast
There we live struggle, fight and resist
Whether considered legal or illegal
There we are
There we have been
And there we will stay
The Mexican’s Revenge
Response to Those Who Say
“Let’s Take It Back to the Good Old Days”
Let’s take it back to the good old days
Yes, let’s take it back to
When niggers and spics knew their place
When chinks were lined up
And placed in camps
When women of color were
Fast whores and tramps
When Hoover bugged Dr. King
By placing microphones in his hotel lamps
Let’s take it back to when
The CIA placed hundreds of Cubans
On a certain bay
And let them be slain
And then say
“O we had nothing to do with it,
It was what they,
What they wanted.”
Let’s take it back to
Commie sympathizer witch hunts
Let’s take it back to black lists
Let’s take it back to government control
Segregation because of pigmentation
Let’s take it back to the control of islands
Population through sterilization
Let’s take it back to when bullets flew
When Kennedy’s brain was splattered
When Dr. King’s skull was opened
When brother Malcolm’s soul left
Cause of conspiracies buried in files and codes
Let’s take it back to small Black children
Being sprayed on the streets of the U.S.
Attacked by dogs
Spit on like Christ was by bigots
Let’s take it back to chemical
Insecticides used to grow healthy crops
And infected my family
My uncles
My grandparents
Who worked for under minimum wage
Like slaves they labored in the sun
To be infected by cancer
Yes, let’s take it back to the Zoot-Suit Riots
Where America’s Navy raped our women
Beat our men all in the name of defense
Yes let’s take it back to
When the only face of beauty was White
When Latino actors were forced to say they
Were Italian
When Mulatto mixed children said they
Were not Black
Yes, let’s take it back to when the only act
On the big screen that depicted
People of color was about
Sex, violence, or ignorance
Let’s take it back to when Bruce Lee
Was forced to wear a mask because
Of his slanted eyes
And millions yelled out to the Green Hornet
Let’s take it back to when Blacks
Could not play in the NBA
Before Iverson, before Jordan and Zeek
Before Magic, before Dr. J, before the Ice Man
Before Wilt and Russell
Let’s take it back to the good old days
When millions of Americans went
Overseas to fight wars
Only to return in body bags
And because they were not White
Could not be buried in the
Cemeteries that they died to keep
Let’s take it back to when
The government introduced Heroin
To the streets of Harlem
To the streets of Los Angeles
Let’s take it back to when jazz was monkey music
Back to Black face
Uncle Tom, yes massa mentalities
Let’s take it back to when the blues
To when jazz, and poetry
Where appropriated by white beatniks
And black and brown voices where drowned out
Lets take it back to when
Pinero, Algarin, Pitrie
Where pseudo nigger writers
And poetry was only
A dead white guy thing
To when breakers, d.j’s, mc’s and graffiti
Where not sub cultures but where black and Latino
Before Beasty Boys, Third Base and Eminem
When hip-hop was in ghettos and slums
Let’s take it back to when masters raped slaves
When Thomas Jefferson had a
Love affair with one of his own
Let’s take it back to cowards hiding
Behind sheets setting crosses a blaze
Let’s take it back to governmental testing
On minorities to see the outcome of A.I.D.S.
Let’s take it back to the Treaty of Guadalupe
Forty acres and a mule
Let’s take it back to the Red Man
Being infected by small pox from blankets
Given to him by the U.S. of A.
Let’s take it back to no questions
Everything you see reality
Dogma of the age
Let’s take it back to when women were worth
Nothing, unable to vote, baby-making
Cooking tortillas, greens “just lay there”
As I bust time and time again
Let’s take it back to Vietnam
When men and women bled and bled
and bled
That’s why when I hear people say
“Let’s Take it Back to the Good Old Days,”
I say, FUCK THAT! NO WAY!
The good old days weren’t as
Good as they say
Plant The Seeds
Plant seeds of resistance
no matter how small and feeble
the may be
Plant the seeds of change
Let them grow to cover our pain and sorrow
Plant the seeds to unify the peoples of the Americas
The peoples of the world
Plant the seeds to grow a canopy of change
A rainforest of hope
A flower of love
And a garden of peace
Plant the seeds for justice and equality
Plant the seeds indigenous rights
Plant the seeds and toil for struggle
Nurture and love them
So they may grow
So our children may eat of its fruit
So it may cleanse our bodies
So the fruit may heal us
Plant the seeds so our air may be clean
So we may drink fresh sweet water
Plant the seeds to destroy imperialism and
White supremacy, global domination
Allow its branches of change to break through
The concrete and twist the steel and iron
Plant the seeds so we
Can dream of a new world
so in its leaves we can hear the joyous voices of freedom
so in its flowers we can see the world’s beauty
So in its branches we can feel its reassuring strength
So in its trunk we can stand firm on whom we are
So in its roots we can remember the past we have forgotten
Plant the seeds nurture them
Water them
Speak to them
Love them
Plant the seeds and let them grow
Let us plant with the rest of the world
And be the example to all
Plant the seeds
Because it is necessary
Morena De Mi Corazon
Morena the first color I knew
Before I even existed God selected that color for me
Morena de mi Corazon
She was the first color that held me close
The first color I loved
The first color that nurtured my growth
She was part of me and I of her
When I cried she comforted me
When I fell she lifted me
For nine months Morena was all I knew
Morena was me
Morena de mi Corazon
My first steps were with her
My first memories of life
I was attached to her
I could not bear to be apart from her
I would cry out if she left me to go to work
But rejoice when the older and wiser, but just as beautiful
Morena de mi Corazon
Held me, her face a darker brown
Shining with memories of raising twelve boys and three girls
Now this brown woman was helping in raising me
I can remember early morning breakfast
Always freshly cooked homemade tortillas
Eggs frijoles and sometimes not so homemade Count Choculas
I was three when she started spitting up blood
Holding the bucket for her as she said, “Ahi mijo, I’ll be okay.”
I think that was the only English she knew
But sadly it was so long ago
I can’t really remember how much English she did speak
Yet I still cry at the thought of that memory
Morena de mi Corazon
I am not sure how much longer it was before she died
I know shortly after that moment I never saw her again
At the time being three I did not understand death
I just sat on Morena’s lap
As this young and beautiful color cried so many tears of sorrow
It drained the very happiness of her soul
And I did nothing but sit
It was not until a few days later when I realized
The older and wiser color was never coming back
That I cried
I often sit and wonder how this older and wiser color
Would be now
What she could have taught me, what we would laugh about
And what memories we would have now
But like all strong colors they over time
Fade away and are nothing more than memories
Of the past
It has taken me seventeen years to come to terms with this
And again all I can do is cry
Morena de mi Corazon
Time passed and Morena was all around me
From tias to cousins to second cousins
And in school there was a whole new type of Morena
And again it was the first color I loved
I would see her by my locker, in front of me,
Sitting behind me, on the playground and
On the way home from school and this Morena
Had shades as dark as coffee with no cream
To as light as the cream itself
Morena de mi Corazon
Morena this evil color broke my heart
She played with my emotions
At times she was the most beautiful color ever seen
But this evil color that I had come to love so dear
Cheated on me
I hated her down to my very existence
My heart torn
Not sure what to do
“I don’t love you!” I would yell
For what you have done
I can no longer live
But then again Morena entranced me
With her music, with her fruit
And her overall loyalty ensured me to
Trust her
Morena de mi Corazon
Soon she was an obsession
Her curves, her scent, her taste
Like no other known to exist in all of creation
Morena was like a color never seen, a fragrance never smelled
Or like skin that had never been touched
She was in my dreams and again I loved her
The way she danced to the rhythms of the world
How she lifted her eyes
Just enough to catch a glance of her beauty
And Morena was coveted by all men of the Earth
Morena, Morena, Morena
She gave birth to Che, to Cesar, to Tejarina, to Zeta Acosta to Benito Juarez
To kings in Africa, to children in the Middle East
Morena made by God, cleaned kitchens, mopped floors
And managed to raise doctors, lawyers
Engineers, writers, photographers
And still cooked tortillas frijoles and carnitas
All in the same day
Morena de mi Corazon
Worked in plants, in foundries, in factories
Worked the fields as good as any man, if not better
She crossed the border by river, by land, by ocean
Had the border move on her
Gave birth to revolutions, artists, philosophers
To ancient astronomers
Civilizations advanced in mathematics, in architecture
Raised her rifle to France, to America, to Spain
Morena endured rape, slavery,
The stigma of no social status
She was good enough to fuck
But not to take home to mommy and daddy
She was beat, abused, hooked on dope, smack
And crack
She was cheated on
Put up with your punk ass only dating White girls
She went to war with you
Held down the house
Made the food you eat
Gained weight so you could have a family
Had her chest sag just so you could grow and be healthy
Did your laundry and the Jones’ to make a few extra dollars
She went to law school got her bachelors, her masters,
Became a doctor, a lawyer, president of a corporation,
Started her own business, fought fires, opened minds
Became a poet, an artist, a congresswoman, a teacher
Morena, Morena, Morena
Made love to me!
Morena de mi Corazon
For all that I love you.
Blood Dries Black
Poem for Puerto Rico National Hero Filiberto Ojeda Rios, he was commander of a Puerto Rican
national resistance organization Los Macheteros and was assassinated by the U.S government in 2005
bullets of lead and fire shot from guns of steel
can not silence voices of truth
rooms bleed blood
and walls flow red
those empty of space allow for light to peek through
the sun shines
out side the windows
children smile and play
laughter heard
but on floors in empty rooms
no longer remembered
blood dries black
there has only been one bullet shot
many hands and fingers
many directions aimed
many assassins, murders and killers
some hide behind acronyms
to justify actions
others using ideologies of hate
one bullet
shatters skull and bone
pierces hearts
tears the skin
enters organs
and expels the soul
one bullet
blessed by words
like freedom and democracy
one bullet adorned in
colors of red white and blue
one bullet
that opened Che’s chest in Bolivia
that reddened the Balcony in Memphis
that entered and left Salvador Allende
in the presidential palace floors soaked and dripping
the same bullet made from twine
that stole the breath of Las Mariposas
and painted the Cain fields red
that ripped through Augosto Sandino
and left an airfield with rivers
the same bullet that hung
Angel Cristobal Rodriguez
And the bullets that bloodied the streets and country side
of Mexico, Cuba, Panama, Dominican Republic, Guatemala,
Nicaragua, Honduras, and the many other places
Hidden behind documents and paper work
the same bullet that is used to kill
those crossing lines drawn in offices
the same bullet that drips red onto street corners
an enters to young Iraqi children
one bullet many victims
many shades of red that all dry black
blood stains are ingrained
are etched for eternity
no matter how many times hands are washed
the red still is seen
even through blind eyes
but bullets can’t silence voices of truth
and that is why we gather today
not only to honor
not only to never forget
not only mourn
not only to celebrate
but to transform
I am a poet
That hopes to create beauty from what is chaos
To create stories of inspiration from tragedy
To create hope from desperation
And to create love from hate
How I wish I could stop that bullet
How we wish we could stop that bullet
That enters and leaves
Holes not only in flesh and tissue
But leaves holes in who we are
We cry because of death
But not just death
Because things like heart attacks
And old age we understand
But those of assassination
Are hard to fathom
No matter how expected they may be
Revolutionaries die because they dare to love
And in the last minutes of death
What are the thoughts of those that bleed
For their nation and for their people
Is It the same as those that are confined to cells
Does one see the image of
Children yet to be born
Of grand babies no longer held
Smiles that will not be felt
In the last minutes of life
Dying bleeding to death for over 24 hours
What are the thoughts of those who know
death is upon them
why did no one come to your aid
why did they not hold as they would hold their children
why did they not hold you as I would have
close to my heart so you could feel it beat
which of us hear will stand against
the atrocities before use
which of us will clean the wounds of Filberto
not because he was the most astute
or because we agreed on every aspect of his life
but because we was willing to give his life
so ours could be better
which one of us will hold the hands
of Oscar Lopez Rivera and Carlos Alberto Torres
through bars of steel on floors of concrete
which of us will insist for change
but bullets can’t silence voices of truth
and that is why we gather today
to honor
to never forget
to mourn
to celebrate
Filiberto
We gather here
to transform
even when time has passed
and blood dries black
these memories will never be forgotten
BRING HIM HOME!
Dona Clari came into my dream
Woke me to the world of the unimaginable
She told me to imagine and see the world as poets do
She whispered come home Oscar
Come home Oscar, Come Home
Turned to me and looked into my eyes
And said bring him home, bring him home
We need him home
Two children play near 115th and 3rd Ave.
From the street through an open red door
They see a poster
They read it out loud
Bring him home they repeat it bring him home
In the back room the activist, lawyer, executive director
and former political prisoner argue over semantics
come home, bring him home, we need him home
titles don’t really matter as long as he is home
His children grown from of his own resistance
They grew in his former streets children lost in
Gun smoke, addictions ache their bodies
But born in his shadow they wish to catch a glimpse of him
They drum and sing his name
Dance and sweat, beats and rhythm, they want him home
They sing to bring him home
In class the teachers explain
What it is like to see children through glass
To almost touch hand to hand
But separated by this window
that is so much more
To be isolated for 12 years
The students listen
And many have been on the other side of that glass
Some understand the isolation and the pain
They say he must come home
The activist running to event after event
Petition and clipboards in hand
So many times, so many events
She questions its value, its worth
If it truly in making a difference
All the while wants him home
His brothers relentless fight for justice
Thirst for freedom, drives forward
His hopes only heard by those closest to him
His step a little happier, his glance a little stronger
His hope more open
He knows he will be home
His community not to quick to believe
But slowly start to hope
They awaken from there sleep
They rise from there long rest
And start to wonder
Start question
They begin to see the possibility
The start to fight for him to be home
The young girl goes to school is told he is a terrorist, a bad man
But she knows better
And pushes onward to see him home
They meet on the floor of Congress
The same floor of Lolitas rebellion
All four agree to sign a letter
For his release
He might come home
The poet writes away imaging, creating conditions,
Writing the myth and all its wonderful exaggerations
Writing truth and fiction
They call him home
All of this, poems, nights making pastelles to raise funds,
conversations, meetings, meetings and more meetings
tours, plays, visits, talks, years and years of toil
printed flyers, door to door canvassing, persuading
elected officials and people of prominent positions
all of this is the hard birth for freedom
They all agree the poet, activist, former political prisoner, teacher, child, student,
Daughter, mother, father, brother, preacher, politician, actor, executive director
That they need him him
That he must come home
That without him they are incomplete
Without him there myth is not finished
There journey slower
There story half told
With out him its as if Lolita never kneeled before Albizus grave
And said mission complete
Or as if
Che would never have met his destiny in Bolivia
No they need him home and like the myth
He who was born on three kings day
A sign of his strength
He must fulfill his destiny
And Come Home
So we may reach out and embrass him
Cry with him
Laugh and smile with him
He must come home so that we to
May reach our destiny
So I ask you now do all you can
To bring him home
So we may be complete again
So he can return to his nation
His Nation that so desperately needs him
BRING HIM HOME!
The Day Oscar Came Home
Poem to Oscar Lopez Rivera, he has served over
28 years in prison as a Puerto Rican Political Prisoner.
The day Oscar came home
We held the biggest parade every seen
There flags covering the entire horizon
Light
Blue
Shinning
Bright
Blending
Sky
People yelled from the roof tops
“ Viva Puerto Rico Libre”
Police even joined in
And all the politicos came out
I think I even say Mark Anthony
But it might have been Luis from up the block
He looks like Marc Anthony
Cars couldn’t even move down la division
The UPS driver was pissed
We shut that mother fucker down
We had planned a bombazo at La Casita De Don Pedro
But we had to move it to the park
The yuppies walking their dogs
Started to freak out
We carried Oscar on our shoulders
There was an ocean of beautiful Puerto Rican People
More like the Orinoco River perhaps
I made sure I had my Mexican flag
The street cheered as Oscar moved toward
Humboldt Park
Abuelas yelling from windows
Youngins yelling from cars
Kids yelling from bikes
There were even two gangbangers yelling
As they rode a schwinn tandem bike
You know the kind that has
two sets of everything
even the drunks who don’t seem to care about anything where yelling
the news sent helicopters
and they reported it was a riot at first
“ this just in live from Humboldt Park the third riot in 40 years
why the Puerto Ricans riot? join us for a full report at 6”
but when they read Michael Rodriguez article
in La Voz our community newspaper
they changed their story
I heard a littler child ask her father
“who is that man on their shoulders?”
the father said “that’s a Puerto Rican hero?”
as we reached the first 59 feet tall flag on
California and Division
There was a calm over the crowd
Silence
as if Roberto Clemente was at bat
in the bottom of the ninth
down by one run
basses loaded
with a full count
Oscar stepped down off our shoulders
He looked at the flag closely
Felt the cold steel
Observed the detail of the work
And gave a smile
More so with his eyes
The crowd cheered
We approached the park
A sound system was set up on the back of a truck
Lourdes Lougo gave the introduction
You are home now Oscar you are home
The crowd wept
Then Jose Lopez spoke
You are home now Oscar you are home
They wept some more
Then there was poetry by the youth of the Batey Urbano
Judy, DVS, Pinky, Melissa, Mat, Janeida, Jay Jay and Xavi all read
I read as well and Eduardo Arocho too
Oscar went to the mike
And the crowd erupted
For 20 whole minutes he could not
Say a word over the cheers
During his greeting
We cried
Laughed
Smiled
Cheered
Yelled
And cried some more
After we finished
We went to eat at the cultural center Juan Antonio Cortejer
Dona Claudie cook special
We had every type of Puerto Rican food made
There was alcapurrias, flan, tembleque, chuletas, morcilla, asopao, pastelon, pastels, albondigas, mofongo, mondongo, chicharron de pollo and every type of sweats from café coloa.
We ate talked and laughed
We smiled cheered but most
Of all we celebrated and prepared for the next days work
All of this on the day Oscar came home