March 8, 2012
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I was thrown into the pit of
Snarling dogs with black
Teeth, who would rip my

Heart out with a smile. Yet
White sand drift into the
Wind, into every cage and

Every bloodied nostril bleeding,
Bleeding years of wasted life. That's
how you kept those “savage hounds” calm.

Mr. Sandman, Mr. Ship Captain
Mr. Columbus. They are all the same.
But now the cages are unlocked and

Now the gun is loaded by the other hand,
Don't you think it's grand? I am Africa.
I am not. Your revolution feeds my hunger

For freedom, but gluttons my lighter half
who doesn't know the meaning.
I am a collared puppy who has

Never walked the streets of
Harlem or graced his tongue with
native Swahili. My head only patted

like a Pekingese show dog.
Nevertheless the blood of beating
drums dances in my veins.

I may not run among the herd
Of the northern Savanna. I may not
Have even felt the sweet earth in my paws

Yet I stand in the middle
Between two rights and two wrongs
Neither staying or going.

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