Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

13/4/16
Don’t disrespect beauty

I read the most disrespectful statement about my sisters, I just wanna let you black men who forgot your place, don’t know that a black body spilled herself for you, least you forgot the skin you wearing, disrespecting what god took time to perfect, how dare you forgot your place, how dare you disrespect like you don’t know that ain’t nobody but this black skin will always have your back, acting like black man n black woman ain’t the same blessed, ain’t the same sweet menlanin we praise, they praise, don’t you forgot your roots boy, don’t forget who brought you on this earth, don’t you forgot the colour god blessed upon your disrespectful self, talking like you worthy of so much she ain’t gave you, capable of carrying all this that society has given women with melanin bright enough, brave enough, strong enough, beautiful enough for you to act like you own, like you have the right to, how dare you, don’t you know disrespect when it assaults your narrative, never forget it is this skin that you are here, so best you know, before you disrespect yourself

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Entry 5: I think it’s inappropriate to educate an African person on whether it’s okay to say/use the ‘N WORD’ even if you are of another ethnicity

Here me out. So a few weeks ago I was in the city with my little sister trying to find some kick’s that she was after, and we were pretty much willing to pay quite bit for kick’s, you know … Continue reading

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate (MBA)

Melody Of Being Animate (MBA)

16/12/14 – 18/12/14 – 22/12/14 – 27/12/14 – 8/1/15 – 10/1/15 :December Metro 15th

On the 15th of December, me, sitting across my little sister listening, laughing, she forms sentences as if voice box were stuck on auto pilot, she’s talking about happenings of a boy, and how he did her or her friend wrong, I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening, across from her, our family friend who looks annoyed about the situation, as you can imagine we were swallowed up in our own dialogue, I looked up at one point, ahead of me, I see a man, with a bike, shaved sides, long hair, but the middle tied up, I see his mouth moving, but I’m not sure what his saying, I can’t seem to make out the words, all I hear are mumbles, I look back down, Zam is still stuck on auto pilot, then I hear something, I can hear him, the man screaming ‘fucking Muslims’ as though we were one, not blood flesh and bone, not majority good, but minority bad, his attacks getting worse, he screams again, I freeze, is he talking to us, I glance, our eyes meet, I want to say something in defence, but my mouth just won’t let me speak, I froze, I was so scared of being physically attacked, even though verbal abuse scars, I become numb to some of the strangers down the train laughing at his racist slurs, I told the little ones to put their heads down, not look ahead, I told them not to reply back, I didn’t want us to be hurt over something that shouldn’t have happened to begin with, when he left the train the situation was just a blur of confusion, a train wreck of why’s, as though he decided that they are different, as though Islam was the poison of humanity, humanity doesn’t choose to become poison, media molds humanity into the chemical formula of this ridiculous science experiment, when he got off the train we looked out at him, as he met our eyes he disgustedly spat at the train, eyes sharp as though they spoke evil to us, at this point I was shaken, my body did not know how to take in this privilege of my being, I was convinced that it never happened, my state of mind intoxicated, my everything was denying this abuse, once again I became numb, at the end of the day, I couldn’t help but feel I experienced the majority of our nation in its true form, as centuries go by, racism is still being belted out as though, was not, can not be an offence, privilege knowing they can get away, at the end of the day they can, at the end of the day I’m still part of the minority good, at the end of the day privilege is evident, at the end of the day, no one was there for us, at the end of the day we’ll try to shake this movie cut, try to move on as usual, at the end of the day, month, year, centuries, waiting for society to become less ignorant, when will they change, when will we stop feeling like the problem, when will they stop making us the problem, we the hunted, as if we weren’t already being stripped of morality, rights amounting to pigmentation, this black that stains history’s, earth becoming the hunting ground of our greatest movie cut yet, big, bold, over played, overexposed, overseen, hope, for humanity.

FH – Fatma Hussein.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate (MBA)

Melody of Being Animate (MBA)
09/11/14 – 13/11/14 – 25/11/14 – ‘Black Privilege’

This girl, who said “I wish I was black cause you know blacks can get away with racist jokes”, then prompted to say that we who have been both emotionally and physically wounded by history events trying to rewrite our history, that we have, and misused our ‘black privilege’; now, there are a few things that she said which I had overlooked because why, why brace my vocal for you who thinks not of my being but of how deep my melanin travels, but when she dared to use ‘black privilege’ I took a moment gathered my thoughts and my smart phone to educate her racist considering self down, let me tell you about black privilege, black privilege is being the only shadow in the class room, its being called ghetto, its being called Africa in the tone of go back to your country and take your illness with you, regardless of whom you are, both human and free, it doesn’t matter because to them your still black and your still Africa, black privilege is being racially profiled and associated with all the bad, its being black and African and nothing else, its walking into an in-closed space and watching how quick your hands move and always being conscious, its being stereotyped into one category, its being conscious of this black that plagues you, black privilege is all eyes on you, its wanting to fit into society, its wanting to be an equal without second guessing otherwise, black privilege is anything but misused, its nonsensical that you chose to publicly feed social media with what the media has spoon fed into society, nothing factual based, just fictional narrative which harms the mental state of a being, its blasphemy that we still have to live with in-just privilege, my people demand this freedom that we deserve, we demand this right, this is our black privilege, in this era, which is where and why we choose to fight.

FH – Fatma Hussin

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate (MBA)

Melody of Being Animate (MBA)
13/1/15 – Rita You Stupid

To Rita Panahi, this is my unapologetic catharsis, for every graphic marginalization written, for each column, each publication for you to keep your day job, speeching this oppression that my religion keeps me hostage, show me, where is this oppressed Muslim you scribble that doesn’t live in a third world country, not saying its plausible, but it sure as hell isn’t justified for every Muslim in your horizons, we’re not every Muslim girl you write about, we dare to be called human, emotions, boiling towards your unintelligent reasoning of all the crap you thought sounded informative on Sunrise, your exactly the kind of people that us Muslims pray for, our religion is not something for you to critic, it isn’t something for you to knit pick and twist, our religion is faith binding, its connecting with god to guide us so we don’t end up as ignorant as you, you, who thinks narrow minded, marginalizing the minority because of a majority, you, who believes, that comparing happens in Syria is relevant or equivalent to happenings in our backyards, I’ve heard Islam recycled with the word terrorist too many times, these words used for beasts, inhuman, dehumanized, I will not apologize for the way I feel, they need to know that not all Muslims are capable of beastly attacks of the innocent, they need to understand we are the innocent, we survive all that the media shackles on our chains, life chambers only they have the power to destroy, staining our daily lives effortlessly, the media is the reason I don’t feel safe riding the train, the reason walking out my door feels like hunting season, its numbing to know our world is slowly crumbling with injustice so strong, for awhile now I’ve felt just about done as Lupe, feels like unsolicited, existing, in this, tormenting democracy of the apartheid, when will injustice stop having a colour, a religion to hide behind.

FH – Fatma Hussein.