The Master Race Marches (poem)

M. Junaid Alam redjaguar at attbi.com
Fri May 23 00:09:39 MDT 2003


2 AM poem of mine I'd like to share.
-

The Master Race Marches

Slaves of Man, arise:
The Master Race marches.
Can you not hear the clanging of your chains
Or the beating of Their breasts?

Black gloves wrap around coiled white fists
Raised in rage against that unrepentant race
Of dark-skinned sinners

Whose fragile hands,
Wielding but stones
Serrated on suffering,
Dare a phalanx of tanks

Whose weak limbs
Wilted by the deadly tune
Of starvation's hymns
Carry off unbroken spirits

Whose tortured backs
Bow to imperial commands
Voiced in the resting chambers of freedom
And echoed in the prisons of Guantanamo.

Spread out across all continents
These are the marked children
Born of the Crescent
All instigators
Of September Eleventh:

The sole tragedy in a history
Held hostage to farce
Written in the blood of
Watts and Wounded Knee
Sioux and Saigon
Engraved as epitaphs
On the unmarked graves of unworthy
Others.


These brown, black, and unseen;
Voices sloughed to the sidelines of civilization
Tread upon by the triumphant
March of the Master Race.




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