They're on the rise.

They're not like the niggaz I grew up with on the block
or the Arabs that own the white-tee store across the street.

They're not like the Phillipinos I went to church with
or Jose who owned the mechanic shop next door.

They're more like the whites they were taught to hate,
brought up on prejudices of prehistoria
that carbon dating wants no part of.

They're like cowards who hide behind a false sense of purpose
milking-off a heritage that deserves much more than their scorn.

No. They are that.

They've gone on to Universities
forgetting the struggle
but remembering the definition of "hood" when someone asks:
"where you from?"

They've dreamed of the glorious acceptance of a revolutionary
marking off their favorite books by W.E.B. DuBouis and Malcom X-
others even take the hypocrisy further with a:
"Dr. King's rollin' in his grave right now."

Yes. He is.

They're artists who draw up schemes
and picket signs that read "fuck the police"
but they scratch their heads when I mention Eazy-E.

They're the "fuck bush" poets
They're the "rice and beans" poets
They're the i'm-going-to-say-racist-shit-in-my-poetry-then-defend-it-with:
"it's not", poets.

They're not poets.

They're coughing up blasphemy in their sleep
snoring to salsa's beat
choking on every word they speak
and it hurts inside;
that's why most of them are insomniacs
fighting a daily battle with others
that leads to losing themselves.

Fight on young Che,
Fight on young Zapatistas,
Fight on young Malcom.

the Art of War was only written seventeen centuries ago.


Geo.