We Shall
Times are getting unkind, to he whose skin is dark. ‘They’ fear not to say it out in the open, they fear not to take lives, lives they never gave, lives they never nurtured. There is nothing we can do, they say, for the odds are against us, the odds have always been against us. ‘There is nothing that the niggers can do, for they worship and adore us’. Two hundred years in chains, and right now, they still cherish the chains, and they crack our backs with their whips, but not for much longer.
With complete rebellion, we shall march, even while the chains on us are still dripping injustices. We shall parade our uncovered wounds with pride, the stripes on our backs, so that they can see, that they scarred the flesh, not the souls. They burnt the skin, not the will, and though they heap fire and coal all over us, we shall never burn to ash.
We shall refuse, to breathe this poisoned air, the rancid oxygen. We shall refuse to partake, in this torture, and we shall refuse to be party to they who bear the whip, to they who increase our yokes, and chastise us with scorpions. We shall let them know, that our hearts are tired, and that our children are willing to fight, to save themselves, to save the children of their children.
We shall refuse to be afraid, and we shall stand up to the helmets, and to the batons. We shall stand up to their fear, and we shall tell them what we mean. We need back the blood; that blood that the ground has refused to spit. We need answers, for the flowers they cut off, long before they grew to prime.
We shall march for them, all of them that have refused to die, that prod us every night, saying ‘Mama, I need justice.’ It shall start as a whisper, and soon it shall turn into a roar, one that has never been heard, and never will be again. We shall march, at the point of a gun, at the sharp ends of the sword, but we shall refuse to kneel, we shall refuse to put our hands over our heads. We shall weep to none, for the dog days are truly over. We shall not let it be, that we leave one form of slavery, only to be enrolled into another.
We shall march with pride, bearing with us the crosses of Luther, and the whips of Malcolm. Our boys shall sing a song of glory, and our girls shall do the march of pride, the march of their lives. No longer shall we crave the place beyond the river. We shall move the river closer to us. No longer shall we sit under trees and dream of the great lands; for we shall make orchards where it is we stand, where it is that the fire vainly tried to scorch the young seeds.
We shall create us a land, where our boys shall never die, our children shall never be orphaned, and babes will never bury their fathers. We shall dream of a place that Luther never saw, and Malcolm never thought of.
The time is nigh. The horses are getting ready for battle, and the warriors are girding and arming themselves. Get ready, legion, for war. Get ready, for death. Get ready, to be maimed. Get ready to pay the price, for freedom is never free. But if we have to die so our children can live, it is a chance that we must take, to die with our conscience clear, than to live with guilt flowing through our veins, taunted by the choices we never took, the options we never pursued. Yes We Shall.
Times are getting unkind, to he whose skin is dark. ‘They’ fear not to say it out in the open, they fear not to take lives, lives they never gave, lives they never nurtured. There is nothing we can do, they say, for the odds are against us, the odds have always been against us. ‘There is nothing that the niggers can do, for they worship and adore us’. Two hundred years in chains, and right now, they still cherish the chains, and they crack our backs with their whips, but not for much longer.
With complete rebellion, we shall march, even while the chains on us are still dripping injustices. We shall parade our uncovered wounds with pride, the stripes on our backs, so that they can see, that they scarred the flesh, not the souls. They burnt the skin, not the will, and though they heap fire and coal all over us, we shall never burn to ash.
We shall refuse, to breathe this poisoned air, the rancid oxygen. We shall refuse to partake, in this torture, and we shall refuse to be party to they who bear the whip, to they who increase our yokes, and chastise us with scorpions. We shall let them know, that our hearts are tired, and that our children are willing to fight, to save themselves, to save the children of their children.
We shall refuse to be afraid, and we shall stand up to the helmets, and to the batons. We shall stand up to their fear, and we shall tell them what we mean. We need back the blood; that blood that the ground has refused to spit. We need answers, for the flowers they cut off, long before they grew to prime.
We shall march for them, all of them that have refused to die, that prod us every night, saying ‘Mama, I need justice.’ It shall start as a whisper, and soon it shall turn into a roar, one that has never been heard, and never will be again. We shall march, at the point of a gun, at the sharp ends of the sword, but we shall refuse to kneel, we shall refuse to put our hands over our heads. We shall weep to none, for the dog days are truly over. We shall not let it be, that we leave one form of slavery, only to be enrolled into another.
We shall march with pride, bearing with us the crosses of Luther, and the whips of Malcolm. Our boys shall sing a song of glory, and our girls shall do the march of pride, the march of their lives. No longer shall we crave the place beyond the river. We shall move the river closer to us. No longer shall we sit under trees and dream of the great lands; for we shall make orchards where it is we stand, where it is that the fire vainly tried to scorch the young seeds.
We shall create us a land, where our boys shall never die, our children shall never be orphaned, and babes will never bury their fathers. We shall dream of a place that Luther never saw, and Malcolm never thought of.
The time is nigh. The horses are getting ready for battle, and the warriors are girding and arming themselves. Get ready, legion, for war. Get ready, for death. Get ready, to be maimed. Get ready to pay the price, for freedom is never free. But if we have to die so our children can live, it is a chance that we must take, to die with our conscience clear, than to live with guilt flowing through our veins, taunted by the choices we never took, the options we never pursued. Yes We Shall.
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