Word is up
tongues of prophecy
We speak no lies
just
What if’s…
What ever happened to’s….
When we gonna’s…
Speaking questions
to pre-sent answers
Drinking sun-water
to charge melatonin
placing knees of Maat
on ancestral altars
on behalf of daughters and sons
who have yet to learn better
I have no sermon
otha than Live
as levitated stars
in every which way
love is created.
to be unfamiliar with doom
our children will not be seeds of the fatherless
with mothers dragging
eyes of unrest
leading the adolescence of our children
to find guidance in chimney’d alleys
white-lined sidewalks.
There are more appropriate burrows
for gods to sleep
Perhaps gold thrones,
There’s no death there
only resuscitated rivered souls.
Tombs are only waiting rooms
nor birds’ cages
or heathens’ quarters
or mama-father-sister-brother mass incarceration
(the new era genocide).
I have seen amends
where salvation collects
like century-aged wine
The children are singing
re-membering their birth names
They have not forgotten.
They are not the forgotten.
So thus, Angels
shall witness
holy changed times
where gods no longer crawl
just
break
dance
or tap
step
on moons
creating scriptures
in its craters
by week’s end
Reincarnating back Beginning.
Word is up
which is why we slang
spitting verses only the undead understands
We are the living
as we have always been
Afraka’s earth
is claiming us back
from whence we came
reassuring our auras
first be black
secondly squeezing out light
We be black.
From us comes all light.
So the beat goes on
as does in hip-hop
where emcees and poetrees
bring forth
wombed seeds
of what we,
ourselves
did not give up
of what we,
ourselves
did not burry
of we,
our selves.
Chantana Dean is a poet located in Atlanta, Georgia. She has been a writer since 11 years of age. Her written dialogue expresses the manifestations of Re-birthing, Co-creation, Light, and the paradox of Self, Spirit, and Universe. You can find her on instagram, tumblr, and twitter.
Illustration by Alexis Torimiro. You can find her on twitter and instagram.
