#Philosophistication

Drowning:
I can’t breathe;
It’s a scene of sins
when you’ve seen the
cynical nature within the
flatscreen, press press press
till the remote breaks,
earth quakes as melanin is
treated as feeble, nibble on the
blood of a black man’s corpse,
spinal cord snaps and snapshotting
civilians screaming against the man,
guns and prison locks ignored,
dance with the Glock, the
melting pot leaving our souls
evaporating, with death we’ve been
for long mating, no eternity it’s
a sad mortality for us, it’s another
sight of violence from lawful entities,
loyalists of racist brutes, death
of my kind is institutionally cute,
always grow mute when prosecution
is avoided every time the man
leaves the unarmed black guy unconscious,
call Morpheus to come save his people,
serve them; the matrix has a loophole.
Save a brother searching for a way home,
one fishing for wealth when
earth is merely a temporary realm,
riddle us sanity when gold and
coin defines our sovereignty,
the bitter truth stings, corpses
sleep and fancy criminals have
blue uniforms for cover, riveting
around our overalls snatching tax
from the palms of our souls,
neglect our presence; find
our sovereignty in a thousand hells,
life is merely a game of notions,
sentiments and our subliminal emotions,
lips causing truth erosion, most are lost and
carving reality from a dry
bark’s shell, black consciousness is
shelved for those carrying no true sight
for insight has been caged, incarcerated
and Animal_Farm-ed within an institutional
page; constitute our rage;
death of a thousand sages.

Don’t shoot; bang bang, blood
traces pavements in calligraphy,
died on a Monday, Wednesday it’s
resurrection: another one snapping
off nails from the crucifix,
there’s no simple fix there’s a
need to pick your lane, and stain
the whole nations with feathers
of black Angels, this anger is
raw; prepared to conjure a war,
foe needs to see head on a roll,
forgotten role, mothers still lynched
to silver poles enacting midnight
roles, then justified by feminist voting
poles, mere moles, nibble on the
fictioned vibranium, or tighten your
fists you titan using titanium.
Queens bring your ovary actions,
I mean overeactions, and let’s erase
all these machinations with our
surreal political imagination,
new regime; bring back the gleam,
that African feel, not the dictated
colonial retreat, bring your ideologies,
mentalities blazing, anger expression,
truth and dark intentions, not that
Bella Ciao salutation, but that
Masai Mayan power, the Negus soon
to be crafting and painting the
universe with melanin brown,
the earth; the Sahara Kalahari
dust elevating, meditation through
the violence, our divinity has already
been pretty clear, no need to be
reasoning with one ply tissue rolls,
no criticism, just too much anger
in my enclosed head, seeing the cocaine
that swallowed my fellow men; colonisation,
police shootings, child soldiers with rebels
funded by rich fiends, Sharpville massacre,
chimurenga martyrs, evicted black farmers,
segregated black folk and shivering
Rosa Parks with parks labelled as European
only, truth ain’t corny, it’s too amaize-ing
to leave awkwardness infringed, comfort
zones cracked from within.

Drowning; still can’t breathe,
I’m that undocumented black man
slaughtered by African soldiers,
police still being cowards, the violence
is everywhere, can’t differentiate if
the system has built a relationship
with a black man or another slaveship
with beautiful engravings, go back
and read the cave paintings,
we’ve always been fighting against
beasts and fiends, break bread
and let us find a means, still
experiencing segregation, economic
inequalities, shacks and empty
abdomens on the same geographical locations,
it’s mansions and black people still
cannibalized by those undecolonized
Eurocentric churchified Republican truths
that request us to remain muted and
mutated into species that sympathize
with the way the world has been ruined,
no need for revolution; our revolution
has been televised with revolutionaries
singing on live social media microphones,
truth is not found on the enemy’s
canvas where truth is usually
regulated and reprimanded,
endangered silence, enslaved mindsets;
and most reading truths and brushing
all the truths off; it’s too dark,
maybe vaccines are our rapture or
maybe I’m too angry to have
Africans being treated like labrats
by European crazy scientists,
drown me in the mist, I can’t bear
to see this truth, it stings my sight,
exploding iris, brain turning into
mince meat!

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Jason deCaires Taylor

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©