Destradamus - Whats in a Word

[Saint]

What’s In A Word?” illesty.com or rapsearch

"Does a person give meaning to a word,
or does a word give meaning to a person?"


Listen...
They invented me, pre-16th century,
This epithet identity, fundamentally,
Concocted to make us resent to be,
This ethnic seed, yet we’re sensibly,
All separated by a mere 10 degrees,
So hence you see…double jeopardy,
Of a stigma that affects us mentally,
Hold up, as I’m backwards tracking,
Back to the root word black in Latin,
Just imagine…the shackle strapping,
Scabs from the brass ankle fastens,
Clasping, whips are crack-a-lacking,
Africa mapping, harassing captains,
They nabbed ‘em, in ample fashion,
The consequence of lasting actions:
This word, 400 years in the making,
Written with the tears of the nation,
Taken…while pioneers be enslaving,
Personified faces of weary abrasion,
It’s more than vowels & consonants,
Deep in the bowel of consciousness,
Laying dormant, from alpha to beta,
Plucking slaves from outta’ Jamaica,
While the Dominican’s…diminishing,
It’s a Caucasian world they living in,
Caught by a word that belittles ’em,
Imprisoned as second class citizens,
Shit is grim…in a skin; masquerade,
All sense of innocence passed away,
Way, Way!!! Before Jam Master Jay,
When even Presidents…had a slave,
Evident macabre, elbows ashy grey,
Cotton picking more than half a day,
Really, what more do I have to say?
Some say, it empowers black youth,
Others…get devoured by half truths,
I say they deflowered our past roots,
A black group, works under the sun,
Men of many whom struggle as one,
Brothers & sons, gaining no respect,
Spirits dampened, by broken sweat,
Trampled, in the threshold of death,
Know your text, yes, & don’t forget,
In baptisms of fire to hold ya breath,
Bestowed in debt, alone we stepped,
To them, we merely posed a threat,
& yet…its whole meaning is tainted,
With the most demeaning of hatred,
Historically, the reasons are ancient,
Complacent, & intense with blisters,
The word of various mental pictures,
Paid in blood with a thousand deaths,
Stumbling is not falling - Malcolm X,
I’m clouded, vexed, mixed emotions,
& on my breath, this shit’s revolting,
Coping, but ashamed of my feelings
Free yet still chained to it’s meaning…

A word of hypocritical use,
I need not riddle the truth,
Cause they’ll always see…
The NIGGER in you.

-.Des.

[Saint]

"Quill Pen"

Let it bleed...
Break the bread & let the letters feed,
Dishing food for thought type recipes;
The wax drips, off of the candle wick,
Absorbing passages and canvas pics,
Imagine it...messages in manuscripts,
Esoteric enigmas that challenge wit,
Asking riddle me this, riddle me that,
Off the wall that's riddled & cracked,
Scribblin' facts...see wat visual lacks,
Lept from VooDoo step to ritual acts,
...dab some ink, let the rapture bleed,
As my Quill pen narrarates rhapsody,
Dreams crafted deep...fall fast asleep,
& visualize Da Vinci's master piece...
Let a thousand words paint a picture,
These portraits of ancient scriptures,
Take you far & wide, past star & sky,
Words go farther than a car can drive,
On this carpet ride; we quest in verse,
Mountain high to the depths of earth,
Let it bleed...time travel the seventies,
Cross the land mass & the seven seas,
Soul of sound...let the flow confound,
When imagination knows no bounds,
"Only rhyme structure trapping me"
Its ink blotch forms a liquid tapestry,
We could get swept up & cast to sea,
& drown in a fountain of knowledge,
Or have these mountains demolished,
...We can fly high on the feather Quill,
Fluttering only where weather wills,
Over the nether hills; past the clouds,
It could cry for us, or laugh out loud,
Recite our lows & passionate peaks,
I grip tight...but my grasping is bleak,
I struggle to put it back in its sheath,
Quills erratic; words span the pages,
Ain't no metaphor; now it's animated,
Pens possesed...& hands are tainted,
Off on it's own like it was amputated,
Pen almost begets a life of its self;
It scribbles in an awkward way,
Best keep it locked away;
And let the
Bleeding
Verse
Drip
Off
ya
P
a
g
e
.
.
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