Monday, March 24, 2014

… Blood in My Pen…

This was published in the SF Bay View, March 24, 2014:


My pen cutting wounds into the surface, forming letters, creating words that express my existence. Wounds that never seem to heal because they are real testaments to who I am, where I come from, and what I been through.

Peroxide only seem to palliate the damage, that make the healing process even dawdling.
However, when time does heal these wounds – because these wounds will ameliorate – you will be forced to look at those scars and fear the reprisal of the political monster you created.

Hiding my scars by forcing me into solitary sequester, away from the inquisitive eyes of society, only corroborates your barbaric nature and prolongs your trial date.

With every stroke of this pen my blood flows profusely, racing to record my pain that will one day be used as evidence against my tormentors.

Who is really the criminal? Me and my ancestors who were kidnapped and brought to this bellicose foreign land? Don’t want to talk about that  though, huh?

Locked in solitary confinement, fighting a war that’s within myself.

Never quitting on myself even when those around me have done just that, I’m believing in myself.

Reality is present at all times while surrounded by nonsense and men with small minds.

Gotta be careful not to shed too many tears though, you would surely drown in such small confines.

In solitude, strength is a luxury and not all men are capable of being strong.

Every day will test your strength and you will lose your grip and fall if you don’t hold on.

Gotta hold on even when you don’t know if the struggle will ever end.

I’m holding on to the smallest things, because I see the blood and I know that it’s life in this pen.


March 11, 2014


Friday, March 21, 2014

All I think about: oppression



All I think about is the pain of oppression. It is embedded so deep into my mind because it has always been a part of my existence, from time immemorial. In the beginning stages of life, I was impervious to ethics and ignorant to values, because my family was also unlearned to the effects. 

Oppression was the norm for me growing up, it’s not that I accepted it then, I always thought it was the way things were supposed to be, so it was never really a thought. The institutions of my culture and its psychological acceptance of poverty and failure to rise above it is the direct cause of our innate oppression. This is all I think about, all I want to know about and all I want to fight about.

This psychological lock down on our lives so to speak was not formed by mistake or occurrence, this was a designed plan that has been perfected over the past five centuries starting with the institutions of slavery and continuing with the mass incarceration of Blacks, and citizens being forced to hand over their lives to elected officials in a blatant lie to achieve what they claim to be democracy.

This is typical U.S. fashion, hiding behind melodious words in an attempt to deceive the American people into believing that poverty and oppression is a stepping block to get to the American dream.

As I stated before, this is a designed society. Once upon a time, there literally were many officials who attended a symposium to orchestrate this sick plan to colonize its own people and create this super political infrastructure that would protect the interest of the rich and use whatever means or methods to sustain and grow the infrastructure for many generations.

They further came up with the twisted plan to travel across the Atlantic and kidnap Africans and force them to plow fields and work the land until they died. What I don’t think these gross cowards thought about and expected when they huddled around camp fires, broke with nothing, on lands that belonged to the natives, was the abolishment of slavery. The cursed human beings really conceived in their insensitive minds that such an inhumane and barbaric tradition would actually survive the test of time, so yes the end of slavery sent the colonist running back to the drawing board to design something more sufficient and forever lasting. Birthed from their twisted minds came the Prison Industrial Complex.

All I seem to think about is how at such a young age I could be stripped from my family’s picture frame and thrust into the system’s current with no knowledge of how long this ride down this treacherous river of uncompromised and indifference would last before I was hurled over the waterfall’s cliff to mental and emotional breakdown, or plunged to my death.

This is the reality for many young black youth growing up in America and if things don’t change, there will be many more Sojas thrust into the system’s current. That may not be a bad thing though, because the more Sojas that are thrust into the system’s current, could cause the clot that’s needed to collapse this infrastructure.

As stated by Jean-Paul Sartre in his Preface in Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth, “We only become what we are by radically negating deep down what others have done to us.” We will soon grow into men in which our weight and strength will match our hate, then the tables will turn.

The fires that burn deep down in the pit of my hollow soul are sustained with desire and fueled with the coals of oppression. My love, solidarity and support is on the side of the oppressed and my hate, anger and aggression is against our oppressor.

The power is with the people, my people.

In Solidarity,
Soja

March 11, 2014

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Soja



Soja,
Not the one that takes orders, crosses borders and slaughters the innocent, naw, not that soldier.

Soja,
Trapped in an artificial war zone created by the oppressor.

Soja,
Forced to clash with the opposition that need like me, greed like me, I shot dudes and they bleed like me.

Why so much hate? They never read a book like me, they crook like me, them dudes even look like me.

Soja,
Camouflaged for guerilla warfar,
Appearance of a thug, tattoos, braids locked in hair.

Soja,
Overlooked by my enemies because of my appearance, typical stereotype.
My artillery consists of Malcolm X, Assata, Che Guevara, Frantz Fanon, George Jackson and the likes.

Soja,
Ready for the war that’s being waged on my people for the last 400 plus.

I understand the virtue of patience so for now I can’t rush.

I can’t wait, don’t want to be like those who use patience as a means to disguise their cowardice.


March 2014