A Day in the Life

[Obi Adisa Asad]

This is just a day in the life
Where ghetto gospels and
Project hymns are recited
By corner store preachers
Standing on soap boxes
Outside bodegas. Redemption
Is written on packages of
Now-and-laters, and beauty
And culture are pimped for
Two dollars and a pack of
Cigarettes.

This is just a day in the life
Of poor righteous teachers
In inner-city schools peddling
Knowledge of self on mixtapes
To teenage mothers, loners and
Gangstas too hard-headed to take
Heed, where I’m from there is no
Reward for the faithful. Little
Girls play double dutch behind
Crack houses, single mothers pay
For food stamps with their respect,
And prostitutes sell
Their souls for their next fix.
All of them in search of a messiah,
But one never comes. All of them
Yearning for deliverance, but hatred
Burns like hot coal in the pit of their
Stomachs.

The money making machine of pimps
And hustlers have replaced the
Wisdom handed down by Prophets
In days passed, turning once proud
Kings and queens into God’s outcasts.
Standing before empty churches and
Feeling the wind of the silent pews
Freeze their skin. Muslims stray far
From abandoned mosques and Jews
Sings songs of a synagogue lost. The
Walking dead, our neighborhood is
A necropolis, where the rotting
Denizens speak through muted
Outrage.

This is just a day in the life
Of warrior poets, scribes,
Soothsayers using pens and
Pads as swords and shields.
Entering post-apocalyptic
Battle fields under the cold
Of storm clouds dancing
In a scorched sky.
Unacknowledged legislators
Of the world, waging a war
Of words against those
Who indulge in idolatry.
In these last days poverty is set
Against the backdrop of hedonism.

Comfortable in our seats, gullets full
We sit emotionally distant from
Baton Rouge streets now turned
Waterways and aqueducts where
Hope is washed away carrying
In its tow the dreams of a people
Now reduced to scavengers
Scurrying to secluded sanctuaries
In search of something to eat.
Black youths wading through water
Stealing the same food that white
Families happen to find. Households
Devastated and we write. Our Moses
Unable to part these waters to lead
Our people on an exodus and we write.
We write only to be forgotten like
The latest fashion fad that fades
Into the hell of obscurity.

This is just a day in the life
Of ghetto vets and urban soldiers
Forced on a tour of duty as cannon
Fodder for wars old men start and
Young men die in. A tour of duty
Where blood flows into rivers that
The inhabitants drown in. The stale
Taste of iron fills our mouths and
Lungs, as we gasp for air over the
Crushing waves of crimson. The
World is a ghetto, a global village
Connected by arteries gushing
Oppression. Bulldozers and tanks
Creep in passed Compton and
Bloods and Crips stage shoot outs
In Fallujah. Our psalms are sung
Over the symphony of black hawks,
M16s, and AK-47s. The overture
Rises as police burst into our
Settlements disturbing the peace.
Black and brown sages shackled
And handcuffed, sent to upstate
Destinations to be surrounded by
The confines of iron bars. The
Crescendo clashes with the
Cymbals’ crash as bombs
Explode in the streets. Anti-war
Protestors choke on government
Issued Agent Orange and conservatism.
Palestinian mujahids with rocks stand
Off with rolling monstrosities as
Bulldozers demolish their homes.
And the band plays on as we sit
Captivated, gullets full at an emotional
Distance. Finally silence slips
Into sweet surrender as the last drop
Of blood falls.

This is just a day in the life.
A story unwritten
A song unsung.
A chaos not calmed.
A voice unheard from a people unwelcome.
This is just a day in the life.

© Obi Adisa Asad 2008

[silent lotus]

Dear Obi Adisa Asad

A very powerful poetic truth.
Look forward to reading more .......

a warm smile
silent lotus

" May your voice be loving enough to silence your own fears." ..... silent lotus
www.silentlotus.net

[Obi Adisa Asad]

Thank you, Silent Lotus. I appreciate it.

[Megan]

This is the #!@% !!! This needs to be song... do you mind if I send this to a friend of mine? Please??

[Obi Adisa Asad]

See the thing is I've been the victim of plagiarism before so I'm a little reticent to give away my work. I know I've got a copyright, but that didn't stop the last person from attempting to rip me off. If you do show it to your friend, I must insist on receiving full author credit. If you can guarantee me that, then you can show it to your friend as much as you like.

[Megan]

I understand completely. Have you ever had any of your writing put to music? Ml, Megan

[Obi Adisa Asad]

As a matter of fact, I have had my work put to music. My brother, Deshone, and I have recorded an EP a few years ago, and we're currently in the beginning stages of putting together another CD. Click the link to hear our latest effort. Thanks for the support.

[JANAJ-YANAY]

Ach.. this is the voice !!!!

[Obi Adisa Asad]

Thank you.

[Lisa Mansell]

Obi Adisa Asad
This is a very powerful poem. I felt myself on those streets. I could smell them. Survival means many different things to many people, and you captured this - without making people feel stupid or wrong, without blaming, you are educating.
Carry on.
Lisa Mansell

[Obi Adisa Asad]

Thank you very much.

[Richard Modiano]

This poem is so concise, clear and accurate. It flows with a rhythm that underscores every vivid image. I look forward to reading more of your work Obi.

[Obi Adisa Asad]

Thank you very much. I truly appreciate it.