Tag Archive: bigot


Racism is Binary

racism stalks streets,
flowing with blood,

red blood.

not black, white, saffron, green, yellow,

but,

red blood,

like the colourless tears that stream,

down faces of all hues,

&

of every shade,

human beings all,

just humans,

who into dust or ashes do fade.

racism on the prowl,

deafening,
virulent ignorance,

embraced by those who hate,

seeping out of diseased tongues that bray & howl,

while,

humanitys’ corpse,
lies in state.

racism is binary,
soul-less,

with just a single choice to make,

so think carefully now, o’ patient reader,

cos’ racism is binary,
soul-less,

& there is only one choice that is right …

… the dazzling fusion of a rainbow,

or dull,
bland,

empty white.

peace | love | uBuntu

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For Pastor Martin Niemoller (1892 – 1984)

when,

the hushed rage of prejudice rejoices in triumphant pomp and hateful ceremony,

and,

the silent dagger of complicit racism plunges deep into the soul of a world bereft of hope,

and,

the long knife of embraced apathy twists and turns,

then,

perhaps we’ll open our opaque eyes,

and perhaps then we’ll open our sewed-up mouths,

and perhaps only then will we whimper in mock shock and startled surprise,

for,

the festering hate that spirals around us,

in the fertile minds of quasi-religious bigotry,

is unafraid,

and speaks in the loudest baritone.

2.

Yet,

we accept,

we acquiesce,

we wish it all away,

but,

there will come that time when the lines are drawn,

when the purest hearts of silently smiling bigotry will hold the world in their sway,

with their cherubic, agreeable arguments sprinkled with pieces of fact that will kill, rape, pillage, and slay…

what then,

I ask,

will we do that day?

          _____________

” … First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me … ” – Pastor Martin Niemoller

When,

the hushed rage of prejudice rejoices in triumphant pomp and hateful ceremony

and,

the silent dagger of fascism plunges deep into the soul of a world bereft of hope

and,

the long knife of embraced apathy twists and turns in the backs of the weakened ones

then,

maybe we’ll open our eyes

and perhaps then we’ll open our sewed-up mouths

and maybe only then will we whimper in mock shock and oblivious surprise

for,

the festering hate that spirals around us

in the fertile minds of quasi-intellectual bigotry

is unafraid and speaks in the loudest baritone

yet,

we accept

we acquiesce

we wish it all away

but,

there will come that time when the lines are drawn

when the purest hearts of silently smiling bigotry will hold the world in their sway

with their cherubic, agreeable arguments sprinkled with pieces of fact that will kill, rape and slay

what then,

I ask, will we do that day?

When silent prejudice strikes

in living rooms with plumped-up sofas

a quietly insidious venom begins to seep

into the consciousness of the chattering ones as they sleep

 

The beliefs held so true and so deep

appear stripped of all feeling

empty and hollow and without compassion

as the conceit grows in the chests of those with righteous passion

 

the prejudice once firmly entrenched

is worn like a warm and comforting shawl

needing precious little to compound and to mutate

into the doctrines of superiority and of aloofness and of hushed hate

we are all guilty of succumbing to this silent pervasive plague

as we sip martinis and laugh and shovel more food on our heaving plates

and as we slip into pleasantly inebriated moments we dare not care

to smell the stench of hate & prejudice & greed wafting in the cool evening air.

she walks alone

barefoot in the paddies of rice

breaking her back for some precious grains

she walks alone

in jo’burg town with a black eye

smacked around by him the previous painful night

she walks alone

in the streets of neon hazed manila

along the pristine hedges of rotten London

on the crowded pavements of lonesome New Delhi

across the rolling plains of the vast bounteous pampas

over the winding back-ways of the sloping and grimy favelas

on the glittering pavements of rich and sweetly-scented Jeddah

through the blindingly false boulevards of that sad Los Angeles town

she walks alone

bearing the burden of mother and daughter

of cook and sweeper and wife and mistress and punching-bag

she walks alone

through your streets and mine

standing up as she is beaten more down

loving a little as the bruises on her face turn purple

feeding the little ones with morsels of hastily cooked beans

she walks alone

in factories and in mills and in buses

in schools and in brothels and in place in-between

she walks alone

staying alive on the alms of the rich

violated by those who from the pulpit preach

she walks alone

my sister and yours

my mother and yours too

my lover and your beloved as well

she walks alone

caged by society in its invisible prison

a slave of norms and culture and religion and caste

she walks alone

but she is the conscience of me and you

screaming at us silently in hunger and despair

she walks alone

and though fearful of you men she may seem

be warned that she may not forever be this alone

for she too dreams and thinks and believes

for she too needs and wants and loves and weeps

in the silent night of complacency while impotent mankind sleeps

and she too will rise and in rising slay

the beasts that in your callous hearts prowl and lay

and she too will demand her rightful place

for every mother and sister and lover and daughter has a real face

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