When the Storm is Forgotten

I found this poem on the inside of my Christian Scott CD cover today and was shocked that I hadn’t actually seriously read it before. Needless to say, I was quite impressed and found a lot that resonated in me, so I wanted to share it with all of you. There is some potentially offensive language here, so be warned. There is some potentially offensive truth here, so be warned. I love seeing multiple mediums partnering to convey a message.

When the storm remains distant
We are heroes of complacency
Puffed chest and swollen pride
We hate ourselves in ways
Only the deepest love could recognize

When the storm remains distant
There is no such thing as us
There is only dollar and dynamite
Gunpowder and fiery God
The churches are filled with women and children
The men pray only in case of emergency
We worship a foreign truth
And only death will stamp our passport

When the storm remains distant
There is no afterlife
Most die unborn
Most live unloved
Disappointment takes on new names and costumes
The future is stillborn and disfigured
The womb becomes an airtight safe
Darkness swallows darkness

When the storm remains distant
Nothing is as is
Songs are opiates
Sleep is the burial ground of dreams
Happiness is a lie
Sex is where love is not

When the storm remains distant
We are unreminded and dare to forget
School is a fashion show
Violence is comfort food
Family is nothing
And nothing is real

When the storm remains distant
Niggas are free to be Niggas
Niggers, Black, you name it

Anything but one thing
Everything but nothing
Even with a shitload of platinum
Wrapped around his neck
Like a southern tree gone petrified
Screw face pearly gate-mouth
Tangled nectar of the stars

When the storm remains distant
Stars are retired drug dealers nicknamed God
Rapists with pretty voices
And anyone but anyone who shines

When the storm remains distant
The sun is flawless in its magnitude
The heavens reflect breath of angels
The people bask in themselves
The storm is forgotten

When the storm is forgotten
The waters, ‘though they rise,
Fail to threaten
The people march backwards
from ashes to ashen,
Whiplash, car crash, Cash Money,
Some Niggas eat diamonds for breakfast
Pursue cheap labor, Enslave God

When the storm is forgotten
Poets are meteorologists
Behold, the farmers almanac
The sheep wake up and congregate
The litany begins

When the storm is forgotten
The struggle ends

May the storm never be forgotten.

Saul Williams
http://www.saulwilliams.com

2 responses to “When the Storm is Forgotten

  1. I think there’s a lot of truth in that. Our priorities and what we hold as valuable or sacred is deeply askew. Makes me wonder–where are we going to end up…

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