|Best Poems About / On IDENTITY
I can't live free, one way or otherwise,
I'm tied permanently by my legs, hands, heart and mind,
The psychology of slavery,
I do everything willingly, happily in form of lost identity,
I revel in the form of lost identity,
I believe I enjoy every moment of my life in the mosquito net,
My culture has become a tag of ridicule,
Despicable and a shame to wear,
I believe I'm cultureless and free,
Yet I'm caught in the foreign spider web,
I'm a soccer player in a match,
Yet I play with no one,
I kick the ball to either side, annoying and pleasing everyone,
I believe I enjoy every moment of the game,
Yet my manoeuvre is determined by the circumference of the cage,
So widely decorated, I can't bear to detach my attention from it,
I'm forever captivated by it, day in - day out,
I'm a spectre of that image,
I dance to it all the time,
Nobody laughs at me, unless I try to be African,
I'm in the middle of a raging river, the Limpopo River,
Yet I can't swim, but I don't care,
What I care about is happiness,
As long as I'm happy, I will keep on drifting away,
Drifting away from me and my pride,
In pursuit of a false identity,
In pursuit of an identity not of my kind,
I've become selfish to myself,
I have painted my children with my twisted tongue,
I want them to speak like me, like everybody else,
But not like the people of my indigenous kind,
They too now speak in tongues,
They are a distance far from me,
Their children too, will be a distance far from them,
We will be a chain running into oblivion,
The culture painters are deceitful,
They sell everything on contract,
Whatever one bought it is his or hers but can't use it at will,
One is caught in a spider web of conditional living,
Tied to the chain forever but free to elongate it,
To whatever distance, as long as the move is forward,
It is everything else but, transformation of dark Africa! !
Niki Nicholas Nkuna
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The Importance Of Your Purpose
Too energy absorbing it is,
To promote with a devoting...
Of one's cultural identity,
To be kept connected without dollars and cents.
Since many today would rather have their efforts,
Funded for the purpose to document...
What it is they feel they represent.
And if the money isn't there...
Few are left to care if their culture is spared.
Or if the existence of it becomes extinct.
Especially in atmospheres where pride and identity,
Is meaningless unless it impresses with bling.
'We need more of 'us' to be paid to represent ourselves.'
~And if the funding isn't there? ~
'Why should we care who it is we are? '
~So your pride, identity and kept identity,
Depends upon who it is you can leave impressed? ~
~Then you will never know the importance of your purpose.
Or have your thoughts represent who you are.~
You give me some money...
And I'll show you where my thoughts are.'
And it will not be spent on anything philosophical.
It's about the bling.
Give me the bucks and to me that's everything.'
Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Irish Republican Army
Through clenched teeth will fight,
So all with Irish accents
Will hear 'Ireland's call' and unite.
The cowboys sings of the country
Mountains and farms and all that,
Though he is from the city
he'll wear his ten gallon hat.
The American is so proud
He was born on the Fourth of July,
He sings the 'star spangled banner'
With hand on heart as he cries.
The Australian larrikin is proud
Of their beaches, forests and sun,
That he is 'young and free'
With BBQ and beer soaked fun.
The Scotsman wears His kilt
And recites what Burns may have said,
About the braveheart spirit
That against the Englishmen bled.
Then there's the twelve year old boy
Thinks 'in what can I now be proud'? ,
He'll wear his football jersey
With the thousands in the stand with the crowd.
These all have something in common
It's the same thing that drives them all,
It's all about their identity
By this we all stand or fall.
The identity is the powerful force
That drives all of life's decisions,
To understand motivation
The identity is the heart's incision.
For this we'll defend to the death
For that is our fighting territory,
Because it's who we are
Where belief comes from, our identity.
Read more poems from Peter Hall >>>
The man ran
But they ran faster
They ran after him
More like a mob
Panting and running
Trying to avoid
The flying missles
And the hands
Being streched to grab him
He cannot afford to stop
To stop to catch his breath
He ran away
He ran even faster
The man bleeds, bleeding from
His head running down
And entering is face
The broken bottle
Thrown by one of
His pursuers got him
Squarely on his head
Splitting open his skull
Blood oozing out
If he should stop
And they get him
That would be the
End of him
Blood mix with sweat
Flowed freely from
His head down to his legs
Where ever he steps
He made a mark on the floor
A mark of blood
Bloody men on his heels
He ran faster and faster
Pleading with his eyes
His mouth opened
To suck in some air
His heart pounding
And beating as fast
As possible to accomodate
He is getting weak
But he must not stop
Otherwise he would
Not live to share
Though it is a case
Of mistaken identity
How could he stop
And explain the situation
It is just too late
He ran faster, faster
He has to get away
Out of the reach of this
Murderous and angry mob
How did he get'
Himself cornered like this
Even unto death
He ran with all his might
He jumped across
Bearly missing the gutter
Colliding against the passing vehicle
Almost knocked down
By another oncoming one
A deadly blow landed
On his left eye
It was so sudden
He went temporarily
Blind and demobilised
He saw sparks, sparks of light
But remembered if he
Wants to live
To tell the story
He cannot stop
He ran on blindly
Vehicles Screeching to
He ran for his life
Yet, it is a case
Of mistaken identity
Suddenly, he saw
Policemen coming towards him
And he ran faster
Only for the mob
To slow down a little
No longer as ferocious
It is only a case
Of mistaken identity
The police grabbed him
And the pursuing mob
Slow down and
Began to disperse
One after the other
They led him away
He would have been
Alas, it was only
A case of mistaken identity.
David Oladipupo Olorunshola
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