THUS SPARE THE MED OAK
THUS SPAKE THE MED OAK
You are loveshine,
Lifelight,
Heavenly warmth
I photosynthesize.
Without you
We couldn't breathe,
And my leaves
would leave me,
While I
Wither away
into
Quintessential existance--
Way into the depths of creation,
Only to rise
with your dawning,
a yawning humanity,
TALL and STRONG;
Roots stretching like an umbilical cord
deep into
Mother Earth's core
giving birth
to this red oak,
a reflection of your own worth.
Thin words
are a whispering breeze
kissing my leaves and
massaging my weathered branches
held out like Moses' arms and staff
at that med sea
crossing
my liberation
through
liberating the People
with the People's liberation.
For without the People needing necessities
I would have this destiny
of bondage
to knowledge--
the higher the height,
the deeper the roots.
Pain hollows the depths
for pleasure to consume.
It's my pleasure to assume
this position in the womb
of struggle.
Struggling through this shell of incarceration
into yet another incarnation--
your strengh, your love,
your Humanity's realization.
A revolutionnary revelation
forever rising on the horizon
while setting...
aside everything
we thought we were;
thought we heard;
thought we thought;
and breathe...
in all the meanings,
LIVING
for each others' BEING.
THUS SPAKE THE MED OAK
* Inspired by Fanny Bodin. Thank you!
This is dedicated to all of you.
DRIVE!
Omari Huduma
AKA Reginald Blanton
HARAMIA/OUTLAW
He opened his mouth
And light blinded my eyes—
Too much for me to BE,
Hold,
In an instance.
Instant revelation.
His light
Enveloped me like
A luminous cotton-ball of fog;
Soft and warm.
Then images bemoaned
Of a struggle to become a man,
While being chased from himself,
Then
Condemned for running;
Running
From some thing he didn’t understand,
Into some thing he didn’t understand.
One darkness for another
Image of his mother,
Attempting to birth this running child.
But somehow
He managed to get turned around
And had his little toes
Straddling
The exit of his mother’s womb—
He didn’t want to bungee-jump to his earthly doom…
And nearly died in the womb
Of struggle.
Looking back
He forgot to look forward,
And he stumbled into the snare
Drooling with his father’s blood,
Transfusing him with the
demonic ejaculation of their
penal institutionalization
But he broke free…
And when it was televised,
The people didn’t see
What he was breaking free from.
The SYSTEM didn’t want them to see…
He was fighting against his emasculation
He was “rebellious”
Not manifesting his spiritual liberation.
DRIVEn by the forces of Revolution,
He’s the “negation of negation”
The SYSTEM’s machinations
Will birth its annihilation.
And we will help them see , my brother, with our mouths. For our truth is more powerful than their lies. And when they open their eyes, though their understanding will have changed, our labels shall remain. For we are all indeed a
Haramia*/Outlaw
*”Haramia” is not only Swahili for “outlaw” but it is the name of our comrade and brother who the blood-thirsty state of the “Killing Machine” tried to systematically murder for driving a car not knowing his friend would kill someone.
“Revolution will not be tolerated, it is against the law in the totalitarian corporate state. The revolutionary must certainly reconcile himself with one day becoming an outlaw.”
--Comrade, George L. Jackson
Haramia*/Outlaw
*”Haramia” is not only Swahili for “outlaw” but it is the name of our comrade and brother who the blood-thirsty state of the “Killing Machine” tried to systematically murder for driving a car not knowing his friend would kill someone.
“Revolution will not be tolerated, it is against the law in the totalitarian corporate state. The revolutionary must certainly reconcile himself with one day becoming an outlaw.”
--Comrade, George L. Jackson