This is the coldest night... the night they killed chaminuka.. spoken word in my artery paintin pictures in my gallery
How come we still poor
Now im wondering
if that old lady they hanged had the answers
Whats a chance to slave
Except dish of slaps
Struggling is part of my body
Pain is pleasure
Hope my pleasure is pain
Black is a picture of were im from
But peace is milestone to were im from....
The struggle is everywhere hope the revolutionary spirit will speak to my spirit and they will be unity in my unity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem