Kinta cloth

 

 

 

What She's Not?!


She speaks to power with the
authority of a hybrid building
new grids of understanding not
withstanding the broad-banding
of those who oppose her.

She offers beauty lyrically while
pondering satirically the ying and
the yang only to hermetically reject
both as if all that matters is the
whole of a thing, the sum of its
many parts. The irony of it all.

She casts aspersions on the mundane
seeking the profane in the kaleidoscopic
prism of life, she tightropes over the
abyss of sanity reaching for logic when
rational behavior is tantamount to
conformity, and everyday language
strangles the mind to numbness.

She loves only herself while professing
to love all that her imagination can
conjure — without boundaries only limited
by the death of thought.

She embraces life and death all in
one breath — never inhaling only
expelling the intoxicating magic that
approximates, that intimates, that
initiates, never duplicates, never
hesitates when falsehood is exposed —
eternal truths. But only in her truths —
and if they touch you in any profound
or subtle way she asks that you not
fault her. The message is only for
those who are resilient.

She sandblasts through concrete barriers
and walls that imprison the psyche to
social conformity where laughter is held
in abeyance and love is relegated to
the shadows of religion, government and
Homeland Security and occupational ambitions.
Making a living is more important than
living.

Indeed, she pimps a pen and makes
paper pay her like a petulant prostitute.
She makes selling girls scout cookies the
equivalent of selling crack, and a
prostitute a graduate of a nunnery.
Each giving life to a belief system
that feeds on each other as maggots
feed on the dead.

When she takes flight she soars
disparaging gravity as a nuisance;
and when she grovels, she crawls
beneath the belly of serpents eating
dirt as if to satisfy a demented hunger
of putrid resolve to never walk upright
again.

She knows her purpose is to make a point
that punctuates particulars, passing nothing
that would pacify people, places or things.

She explains and explicates explicitly,
at times exaggerates the exegesis of
the world’s mental madness. Sometimes
dumbfounding or dampening the delirious,
dexterously with only a few words effortlessly
withering opposition.

She cripples the lame, lambasting and
lampooning their lackluster posturing
as Kings and Queens of the rap scene.
Posthumously awarding them her
laughter, as they falter, falling face
first at the feet of her altar.

She is the taskmaster with the tacit task
of tackling and untangling the tinsel minds
of tormented souls, leaving in her wake
— the AWAKENED.

She having told tales of turbulent times
tantalizing and titillating until truth
is told — troubling life’s taste testers,
grown mental bomb-makers, expressing
and exposing and ridiculing the fakers,
book-makers, party-booty shakers, those
with ’tude explaining the blues and/or
all the news not fit to print or twitter.

She flitters on the wings of lyrical butterflies,
pollinating dry fields with the skills of a
cerebral artisan, word rascals, word bandits,
outlaws of phraseology, highjacking the
bastardized english language into a
hip-hop rhythm of ghetto-ease to
please the existence of poverty Do the
knowledge with me, and you will see,
that she is everything except what
she is not.

I do not ask that you believe me —
hear her for yourself — and I suspect
you will love and admire her from
the start as I do — for she lives in
each of your hearts — POETRY!

Jalil Muntaqim 01/08/10