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the poetry movement 01/09/03

the poetry movement 01/09/03. This peice is entitled, "Leftovers- What is left" and is written by former black panther Assata Shakur. This peice has many sly connitations, a variety of plausible rythms due to changing word emphasis, and multiple meanings and juxtapositions. Please take the time to reread this poem. Print it hang it on the wall! Remember we are not the left, we are right!!! But we maybe the only survivors....
Leftovers—What is Left

After the bears and the gates
and the degradation
What is left?

After the lock ins and the lock outs
and the lock ups,
What is left?

I mean, after the chains that get entangled
in the gray of one's matter,
After the bars that get stuck
in the hearts of men ad women,
What is left?

After the tears and disappointments,
After the lonely isolation,
After the cut wrists and the heavy noose,
What is left?

After the murderburgers and the goon squads
and the tear gas,
After the the bulls and the bull pens
and the bull shit,
What is left?

like after you know that god
can't be trusted,
After you know that the shrink
is a pusher
and the word is a whip
and the badge is a bullet,
What is left?

After you know that the dead
are still walking,
After you realize that silence
is talking,
that outside and inside
are just an illusions,
What is left?

I mean, like, where is the sun?
Where are her arms and
where are her kisses?
There are lip-prints on my pillow—
i am searching.
What is left?

I mean, like, nothing is standstill
and nothing is abstract.
The wing of a butterfly
can't take flight.
the foot on my neck is part
of a body.
the song that i sing is part
of an echo.
What is left?

I mean, like, love is specific.
Is my mind a machine gun?
Is my heart a hacksaw?
Can i make freedom real? Yeah!
What is left?

I am at the top and bottom
of a lower-archy.
I am an earth lover
from way back.
I am in love with
losers and laughter.
i am in love with
freedom and children.

Love is my sword
and truth is my compass.
What is left?

--Assata Shakur
Hmmm 09.Jan.2003 16:44

fresca

Just really badly written poetry. Sorta ninth grade stuff huh?