an open letter to my executioners
if you
catch me, so be it
my dark face knows
bush joys
i laugh at your square world
alternatives, everything you offer
smells like jail
my hair has been clipped
many, many times
but i continue to let it grow
choosing my beard over the edge
of your razor
track me with your dogs, spy
my toe prints on the mud
where i ran, where i danced
catch me if you can
and if you do
so be it
but before i'd dine on your
stolen feasts
i'll drink rain,
wash myself in the streams of life
and keep steppin'
keep steppin'
keep right on steppin' down the road
past my people's martyred bones
broken and stacked in irregular piles
by the wayside, past skulls
perched on poles, cruel totems
which i decline to heed
even if i have to go
totally nude to fight your dragons
you will not detour me
i will go
i will live while i'm alive
i refuse to die while i am alive
refuse
i will even go to your white wall
place my firm handprint on the
damp stucco darkened by body
fluids siphoned from murdered comrades
reject the charity of your blindfold
wink as i stare down your bullets, and
greet sweet death with
my eyes wide open
catch me if you can
and if you do
so be it
—kalamu ya salaam