i have awakened
from my dream world
of reactionary flowers
and have clothed
myself in fibres of liberation
upon my head
i have placed
the garland of revolution
     Poets spoke
     of wars
     and brothers
     rapped
     away the time
     and all i could do
     was speak of
     white roses
     and daisies
     crosses were being burned—
     justice was being denied
     bullets were stilling lives
     and yet i marvelled at
     unrealistic
     flower gardens
     until
          WEEDS
of Don Lee, Ameer Baraka, Giovanni, Pfister
          and others made
     my rose petals wither
     and the thorns
     of the rose
     pricked
     my finger
     and i saw real blood
i speak no more of white lilies
and the magnolias no longer smell sweet
my reactionary flower world
     is non-existant
     and i listen
     as the revolutionary
     Weeds of Reality
rap to me
and as the
last wilted flower
dries up in
the sands of changing times
i get my thing Together.

[click to view introduction]