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" Seekin' The Cause " by Miguel Pinero



he was Dead
he never Lived
died
died
he died seekin' a Cause
seekin' the Cause
because
he said he never saw the cause
but he heard the cause
heard the cryin' of hungry ghetto children
heard the warnin' from Malcolm
heard the tractors pave new routes to new prisons
died seekin' the Cause
seekin' a Cause
he was dead on arrival
he never really Lived uptown . . . downtown . . . crosstown
body was round all over town
seekin' the Cause

thinkin' the Cause was 75 dollars & gator shoes
thinkin' the Cause was sellin' the white lady to black children
thinkin' the cause is to be found in gypsy rose or j. b.
or dealin' wacky weed
and singin' du-wops in the park after some chi-chiba

he died seekin' the Cause
died seekin' a Cause
and the Cause was dyin' seekin' him
and the Cause was dyin' seekin' him
and the Cause was dyin' seekin' him
he wanted a color t. v.
wanted a silk on silk suit
he wanted the Cause to come up like the mets & take the
world series
he wanted . . . he wanted . . . he wanted . . .
he wanted
to want more wants
but he never gave he never gave
he never gave his love to children
he never gave his heart
to old people
& never did
he ever give his soul to his people

he never gave his soul to his people because
he was busy seekin' a cause
busy
busy perfectin' his voice to harmonize the national anthem
with spiro t agnew
busy perfectin' his jive talk so that his flunkiness wouldn't show
busy perfectin'
his viva-la-policia speech
downtown . . . uptown . . . midtown . . . crosstown
his body was found all over town
seekin' a Cause
seekin' the Cause
found
in the potter fields of an o. d.
found in the bowery with the d. d. t.'s
his legs were left in viet-nam
his arms were found in sing-sing
his scalp was on Nixon's belt
his blood painted the streets of the ghetto
his eyes were still lookin' for jesus to come down on some cloud
& make everything ok

when jesus died in attica
his brains plastered all around the frames of the pentagon
his voice still yellin' stars & stripes 4 ever riddled with the police bullets
his taxes bought

he died seekin' a Cause
seekin' the Cause
while the Cause was dyin' seekin' him
he died yesterday
he's dyin' today

he's dead tomorrow
died seekin' a Cause
died seekin' the Cause & the Cause
was in front of him

& the Cause was in his skin
& the Cause was in his speech
& the Cause was in his blood
but he died seekin' the Cause
he died seekin' a Cause

he died deaf
dumb
& blind
he died & never found his Cause
because
you see he never
never
knew
that he was the
Cause.

Comments

very god! muito bom! bueno!

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ذاكرة الســــــماء

انا البحر و من بعدى .... كل شئ يستاء غطائي السماء و صحراء بحجم الكون تشعلني.............اذ تشاء انا البحر .... و مياهي الزرقاء تقتات من الماضى المعطاء ......حبات رمل تنقشها و بطرف الريح و تغني للحاضر ......أغنية " سبعة أيام حمقاء" و حروف من ألق .... لا الومه اذ تضاءل انا البحر ......انتحل الشقاء و امْثل – صبحا أو مساء – في ذاكرة الغضب يســــتاء... كل شئ من بعدي بلا رجاء انا البحر ....ذاكرة السماء و الألق .....حاء.....و باء احترف الموج و لا الومه اذ تضاءل ايضا لا تغني في المساء فالصمت ... صمتُ اذ تريد و الوقت يقتله الشقاء انا البحر اغنية الأغاني و تارخ الاماني لتسكنها ضوابط الريح و تملكها اتجاهات النجوم و قوافي الوجوم..........لا لا اريد استـــــياء الغضب بحر و انا البحر و اكاليل الوفاء يامن الجنيدي سبتمبر - 2007 - نويبع

What a difference a sad event in someone's life makes!!

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways , but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness. We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbour. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done la

فى هوية الهرم الكبر

فى هذا الربيع المحمل بالرمال القادمة من الصحراء....كم من خطى خطاها القدماء على هذه الرمال ... و كم من عظماء أثارتهم خوابي الصحراء... فى هذا التوقيت بالذات لم أجد مانعا من مصارحة نفسي و مكاشفتها تماما بما قد يدور بداخلي . ..هذه الرمال الربيعية ربما هي ما ألقت بظلال التلقائية و الصفاء على ذهني هذه المرة و حولت ما فى الجب من كلمات مجردة الى حروف مكتوبة ربما يجدوا فيها مواربة للحقيقة او ازدراء للهوية التي ننتمي اليها و لكنها ببساطة على النقيض تماما فهي ما آلت اليه نفسي بمنطقية هذه الأيام مقارنة بما كان يحدث على هذا الوطن من آلاف السنين .( مع ملاحظة ان ما حدث منذ آلاف السنين ليس معلوما على وجه التأكيد و الجزم و انما أهواء المؤرخين و مجرد استنتاجات قادتنا اليها البرديات و النقوش على الجدران ) . الهرم ..... هذا الصرح الذي طالما أحسست أمامه بالرهبة و بالعجز فى نفس الوقت ...هذا الصرح و الذي قد أثارت أساطيره – التى كتب عنها العملاق جمال الغيطاني في قصصه " متون الأهرام " – بداخلى العديد من الألحان الصوفيه الجميلة...ألحان خفيه ...