24 September 2013

SPOKEN WORD: "AmeRican" (2001)






 "AmeRican" (2001)

by Tik'al Storm Rydah


a palm tree grows in Brooklyn
forced out of the sidewalks of shame
where the empty vials
of Welfare and Poverty
have eaten away at our brains

where 6 people in a room
get 1 cheque to spend
and the roaches all chill out
not one of them ever having to pay rent

this palm tree is a witness
to the poison we put in our veins
growing out of the crack
which has destroyed our spirit
and all most broke our reign

Kings and Queens

like the mighty palm tree
your leaves spread across these foreign lands
like the claws of the American Eagle
just before it ripped our country
right out of our own hands

no longer a nasty "porro-reecan"
now... "ju an "Ame-Rican"
now... "ju e-speak-e de eng-les"

"Ju ee-ben hab a Platinum BI-sa
for jour ar-ROZ con gandu-les"

drive to the liquor store
in your brand-new Mercedes "X"
that you got from the chop shop
cause your live-in wife
just got her section 8 cheque

stay oppressed by the drugs
and live off the sale of
much to the befuddlement of our people

who are we?

¿que es un "porro-reecan"?

ask the mighty palm tree
who saw my Taino mothers die
from smallpox and rape
babies ripped from their womb
WHO IS this yucca man's "God"
the one who ALLOWS pillage and hate?!

mighty tree who saw my African mothers
dragged onto slave ships
from the land where Shango reigns
whilst my grandmothers were returned
to the belly of Olokun...
god of the sea... keeper of their pain

¿que es un "porro-reecan"?

the definition is the revolution
when we learn that we are split at the root
will truly be our final resolution

a huge mighty tree stalk
borne from the sidewalk

on some Brooklyn ghetto street
near a piss-smelling stairwell
where the junkies stick HIV
and the hookers all look like hell

where the people have lost everything
except their monthly food stamp benefit

forget about scammin'
cause AFDC's sending you to work

go buy yourself a clock radio
so you can serve your boss, the azzhole jerk

8:47 AM
bright and early

to do everything you want me to do for you
except shine your wing-tipped shoes

assistant
assistant to the assistant
assistant to the assistant's assistant

I promise I will work my azz off for you, sir
clean out your garbage for you, sir
open a door for you, sir

in the buildings of Manhattan
so, I can rise before I fall

a victim of the sins of Amerikkka

missing in the rubble
lost to the world

death by our headmaster's imperialism

as we fly in the grip of the Amerikkkan Eagle
we look down to see

all the assistants
all the assistant to the assistants
all the assistant to the assistant's assistants

their lives ending oh so tragically
the buildings falling for all to see

like deadly scissors, the beams
sweeping round and round
destroying families
changing lives
all hopes and all bodies
are simply dashed onto the bleeding ground

floor on top of floor
dreams are diminished
hopes are crushed
under the weight of the wickedness
our Father's done to us

"Amerikkka's New War" declares the new Prez
but, shyt, man...
ain't this shyt been goin' on even BEFORE Vieques?!

take it back to 1898
when freedom rang to wake our illiterate azzes
to save us from lack of civilisation
take our land
even re-teach the masses

teach us to work for you
whilst we open your doors
teach us to fight for you
whilst we die in all your wars

a palm tree grows in Brooklyn
forced out of the sidewalks of shame
mangled by the weeds of politics
of Amerikkka's vicious little game

rise up, mighty tree, rise up
let the sunshine of Truth and Justice
pull you up, up and away
away from all the death and drama
AmeRican all the way



copyright 2001 Hiali QuiƱonez & SoulChango Productions

SPOKEN WORD: "Vortex" (2003)





 "Vortex" (2003)

by Tik'al Storm Rydah


in a sea of same
don’t be afraid to spin
for difference makes change
and change is where we win

jealous others shoot poison arrows of shame
to make you stay within their game
their inability to reach for their best
is the reason their sea is tame

but

reach far

let peoples’ madness just fall away

nothing will impede
a desire to succeed
not even greed
or, those hearts that bleed

down my ghetto streets
creative flow goes

foaming over sidewalks

cresting the highs
feeling the cries
of my creative being
which forever will be seeing

a tidal wave of confidence
bubbling forth a spectrum
growing in a sea of black and white
beauty balanced at the fulcrum

the vortex
of my cortex
will never ever wane
in another lost soul’s
stagnant sea of same


copyright 2003 Hiali QuiƱonez & SoulChango Productions

22 September 2013

SPOKEN WORD: "The Tree" (2003)






 "The Tree" (2003)

by Tik'al Storm Rydah


native man once told me:
“you don’t have no history!

no Pyramid of the Sun
a victim of the dog and gun
your voices never recorded
decimated tribe into extinction

you worked behind an ox
no beautiful tapestries
just some carvings on some rocks!”

african man once told me:
“you don’t have no history!

no Pyramid of Khufu
no lineage from Ra
no Shaka or Nkrumah
yo, what the hell is a 'bori-KWA' ?!

don’t have a nation of your own
you bastards were disowned
a country BUILT on muthaf*ckin' loans”

spanish man once told me:
“you don’t have no history!

no great cathedrals
no written language
you can't even talk right
4,000 years
of that illiterate word plight

children of pirates and moors
your destiny will STAY in the sewers
along with all the dog manure!”


I don't have no history…

...but, I have me

and “me” is the “three”

61 - 27 - 12*

that's how the strands come together
to form the consciousness of my 3 Selves

a DNA of understanding
understanding the key
free from racial inequity
double helix now defining me

the multiversal
often controversial
ROOT of my tree

 outwardly-growing
into the flow of the ages
multipliciously-moving
in creative-type rages

now, I 'm more able
no longer unstable
searing deep cosmic vision
that began at Nana's navel

whilst people kill each other over “race”

I understand the different parts of my “Be”
I overstand what it TOOK to become “Me”

so we
can see
and sit DOWN by that tree

contemplating its roots

as they twist and turn
letting our conscious burn

through the herb

which cuts
through the muck
of this polluted disgust
we call...

...Existence

let the sacred leaves crackle
as the chickens start to cackle
in this barnyard of the ignorant

third world styler
boricua SOUL provider
NEVER the profiler
better yet more prolific
nothing SHORT of terrific

harmonising mental word tunes
an areyto that awakes you...

...to WHO you are

more than a sp*c
you are keeper of the rainbow
more than a hick
from Deminan's backbone

born of Jikoteah

the turtle

our Mother Universal

which we cohabit with her children
on an island hopping-type dispersal

rise high and strong
you no good dirty Rican
listen to the herb cause it's speakin’
about your ghetto marvelous beacon

from under sidewalk crust
I'ma be what I must be
but, I'ma speak about “I”
and “We”

shucked all the labels
removed all the jewels
all that’s inconsequential
for me to attain monumental

there's still a world of shame and poverty
that needs to be lifted
by us who happen to be gifted

with life

and words
nouns working like verbs

now...
...I scribe like simplicity

no labels

just me

the easiest flow
for all the world to see

like the curving smoke of Ganja

from this one spot
I swirled into the etherness
to become...

...me

took that quantum leap
to become...

...three

no glit and glam
not even trying to show how much better I am

cause I am not

I am free
I am love
I can SEE

reuniting my root
all this genetic dispute

...over me?

...the boricua cypha?

see

I'm not gonna hypha-nate
or sit home & hiber-nate

come out into full view
with a searing tongue of fire

the gods are playing for me

the guy
the man
from NuYoRico

muthaf*cka, my name ain't chico

close your cheeks
stop spreading fecal
matter
like a hater

I am me
the three
taino… afro… arab
but speaking a language of scarabs

I am deep
 never average...

...cause average never adds up for me

lyrical mathematician
remove your left and right brain partition
observer of the material culture
of all these primal vultures

the true
the one
like Jet Li multiversing it
I’ma come through without rehearsing shyt

I am not restricted by the frozen words
of a thought
I just continue like
dot dot dot

into infinity
like an untouchable entity

I flow
with universal liquidity
I flow
connecting like serendipity

powerful auric cycles
coiling forever skywards

drawing Kundalini spirals
towards my godhead
and back down

completing the cypha
a mind getting riper

emulating me into Existence
on this spinning ball of iron
burrowing through the aqueous-ness of space

spitting fire out my god eye

the third of the three
this powerful tree
rising up to the sun
letting justice be done

spreading love all around
laying all this shyt down
I am the king who sits in a chair
with a colourful cardboard crown...

...or a baseball cap

caribbean cypha
laid out like an aztec calendar
running around 360
muthaf*ckas be like: “what the f*ck hit me?”

like a matrix scene
kicking around in a dream

I’ma be proud
don’t care if you’re ghetto-azz loud

f*ck what you say about me

I am the power of this tree
the one that is made by the three
the three that has become...

...ME.


copyright 2003 SoulChangoInk



* This is an average population reference in 2003 done on 800 persons
when Martinez-Cruzado first did mtDNA testing on
specific Puerto Ricans with actual significant native heritage;
mostly in the southwestern part of the island.
DNA testing was relatively new at that time.

My atDNA is: https://bit.ly/3N00fI1