Remember being
17
Behind a desk
with an Aztlan Underground Tee shirt on.
While the profe'
A Big Vato
Goatee
and a
Guayavera
His lesson plan : His song
History on his breath...
His voice,
caracols out.
Speaking of a colonization
Genocide Traumas
Not a thought in the mind
But a memory in the blood.
Boils up
in me...
and
spills over with a sizzle.
Feelin guilty
cause I learn my struggle
But still don't turn my homework in...
Now
I'm 25:
mixing baby milk
The present tense:
2010...
Reveals politikos
trying to scrub us out.
So I pray Mijo, mi Ijo
can go to a house of knowledge
and be acknowledged.
See himself in the people
find himself in the viento
fire in his cora
tonanzin on his tongue
soul flowing como agua...
Understanding
that RAZA studies begins in the home-work..
I day dream
lessons
for my son.
My inner self
says
Raza Studies is...
A generalization
for
panche be
Truth sifting threw dedos,
A fire lit
as I grab roots.
Cool tierra
rumbling off fingertips.
The mind drips
tales.
non-fiction
Visions of Feathers,
drum vibrations
drip blood
splatter on his-story books.
But they rinse em.
Non-fiction...
They ain't listenin
to feet
shifting earth.
Lines in the dirt
never define a humans worth.
Stories of suppression...
Paint and brushes
as a weapon.
Xikan@ Hyroglifiks
on the infrastructure
illustrate:
Sombrero casting a shadow
on eyes
above the mustache
that highlighted lips
that gave birth to a metaphor,
Homeboy.
Nochantlaca...
While wars remain the legacy
Amerika has spit..
Survival remains the song
y La Raza keep floating on...
Mind fragments rise
unkronologikal
America depressed as she was;
repatriated mama,
so now she
must picture her children
in the flora y la fauna...
The
drum representing the sun, beats.
Feet marking the plantas
sprouting the flores...
A tando battered in an Eas Los
Gutter...
Tecato jaguars lurking in the shadows.
Chota clubs clash cabezas
de chicanitas,
cause they walked outta class
shouting
Que Viva!!!
Grenya de Adelita blowing in the wind...
Photographs of Cesar Puro Nezahualcoyotl.
While pesticides
declared war on the fetus;
gente bend over toiling the soil...
Alurista : a spik in glyph
Tobacco burning with the corn
husk, conversing with the cosmos...
The noose burns
twisting
round the neck.
Blossoming bandido tendencies...
Her Native hand can't cover up the rape...
The pen pierces paper
signed Flores Magon...
A life measured in prison square footage.Emma
Tenayuca
more than a Ruca
keeper of the flame ...Vatos spelling affiliations with their fingers.
Buffalo Z.
Brown
Middle finger to the Judicial...
Are you my Other
me???
Brown faces
in an ocean of picket signs;
as patas pound pavement...Xikana embarazada but still finished college.
Mechistas tan listas...
Brown hands molding tortillas.Witnessing the birth of a warrior...
Mind fragments settle
unkronologikal
They speak of anchor babies
but let us talk treaties
de Guadalupe and such...
Lies churned
Codices burnedBut I find my new beginning
in the darkness.
While
water
splashes stones
I hear Tata in the steam
and feel
Nana
beneath me.
I crawl out the womb
earth crusted on
my skin
the gentle air in my hair.
I look to the stars
and build Teocallis
outta sand,
with a xikano paradigm
process
and I ain't talkin bout my Tres Flores.
But that
smoked
out mirror
the basis of knowledge
spirals un
serpiento con
plumas en movimiento
as the blue hummingbird
flutters next to
me...
In three ondas
I have excepted
me,
embraced
love
and took up arms with the Raza standing
next to me...My son cries
and I return to
my present reality.
Take him in my arms,
close my eyes
and conjure faith
in the future...
