Identity of  I 
The thought that made me contemplate who ever I'd see
The vision was blur but yet made me instigate whatever I dreamed 
To my friends and relatives who eventually see the truth in me
By definition there's more to it, made me question did it really describe me

Not really, see I'm a loner
Do I smoke? Maybe let my mind drain but doesn't make me a stoner
Lost inside depths of a monster that surfaces as I grow older
But just as I'm older, Me, Myself and I bond closer

Despite the struggle and way past the rumors and disses
I stay strong postponing the thought of braking into a million pieces 
The idea of hope banished all fears in which many rely
All my time invested in questions asking who am I?  
But really the question is...

Who are you?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by life

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Ain't I Black by Elliott J. Curry

“Ain’t I Black”


Elliott Justin Curry

Today, I want to challenge the questioning of a fact
My character and ethnic orientation is often under attack
They question the way I carry myself, in particular the way I act
To clarify, folks say the way I act is white…not black.
But when I look in the mirror, my complexion still in tact
I ask the question….”Aint I black”

Blame me because my verbs agree with my nouns
Criticize me because of the education that I have found
Get jealous cause I am destined, and bound
While you are busy hating, you never get off the ground
Yes, I am proud of me and I love the way my voice sounds
Challenge what you want, and make a mountain out of a mound
You can even dance around the fact but….”Aint I Black”

Okay speaking hypothetically
If I look at my brothers pathetically
If I think we need attention medically
I don’t think we get it right educationally
Should I handle that lackadaisically,
If you missed it that means lazily
Some folks are content and say just let it be
But because I demand change, drastically
I can because its my own, and I refuse to go passively
Not lacking melanin, but I still think tactically
Let me phrase it brashly
“Aint I black”

My people need something like a cultural injection
A reminder of what our forefathers endured for our generation’s protection
Because I feel this way, some say I lack affection
Sometimes I’ll chooses a classical selection
Does that mandate my racial direction?
I am not an agent and this requires no detection
Ain’t I black

Both black and white agree that I act like the latter
This used to bother me and it used to matter
Now I just laugh at the foolish chatter
Keep on talking, while my pockets get fatter
Instead of congratulate, my brothers would rather
Question who I am, make assumptions that make me madder
Than a squirrel without nuts to gather
With all of this being stated, nothing else to be debated
Its been mandated….
Aint I black

No I don’t need your affirmative action
I won’t give you a reason to say I got it because of this reaction
No, I worked hard to reach this level of satisfaction
I wont allow you to use simple arithmetic like subtraction
To take away what I have created, me, the main attraction
I create my own, and I am not alone I have a faction
Don’t be surprised because I say this loud with passion
But…”Aint I black”

I have learned that the point of my existence
Is to challenge stereotypical views with persistence
While my own and whites alike may meet me with resistance
I keep one thing in tact
Ain’t I Black

When its all said and done,
When that fat bitch has sung her last song,
It’s just me....
It’s Just me gazing in a pond to see my reflection
I scratch my flaring nostrils to get some satisfaction
I rub my wool like hair, just to check, and I like the reaction
I am never surprised of my glowing chocolate complexion
This alone reiterates the fact
“Aint I Black”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

In today's society, everyone is too quick to judge. However, judging is not the problem, its the products of that judgement that inspired this poem. All too often, I was told "You are the whitest black guy I have ever met", "You act white", "You talk white", "You date white women don't you?", and so on. These statements are the products of a shallow brain. By growing up in North Florida, I was often critisized and stereotyped because of my attitude, grammar, and ambition. In most circles, these attributes would result in positive constructive critisism. However, they were used to make me question my own identity. Because of the stereotypes portrayed of black men, a black man conducting himself in a positive and productive manner is often critisized to be acting white! That enraged me for many reasons. But mainly, these types of statements show disrespect to my mother. You see, when you say that "I act white", you are saying all of the values and morals my mother instilled in me are not of my own. You are saying that I am acting out of my character. Which this is very much so not the case! I can go on and on, but I think the poem states it best. You can also check me out performing it on youtube..

The Other Side

The Other Side

Years ago, after the freedom,
On a map laid on the table,
Some colonial masters,
With forks of perfidy,
Put us apart on the
Other side of Zakiganj.

Kushiara swells abound,
In my veins, but my
Heart aches in pain,
To toil the land in vain,
Still my roots remains on the
Other side of the stream.

Years later like a nomad,
I don’t find my roots,
Can’t hold anymore,
The strains of existence,
With so many identities,
Here on this side of Zakiganj.

On this side of the land,
I don’t find my roots,
My language, my songs, and
My tongue annoys,
So many who hates,
To see me survive,
And live after so many days.

On this side of the land,
The soil is only for her sons,
I find not a voice to listen,
I can’t call a place my own,
I hide even my whispers,
To earn respect, and
Lest they call me an alien,
I just sing their song.

Baharul Islam | Guwahati | 20 July 2011

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The poem depicts the ‘rootless’ feelings of people of a small part of Syllhet district (Bangladesh) who were divided at the time of India’s independence and now live on the other side river Kushiara that falls in India. The voice here laments the division and feels like an alien. Zakiganj is a town on the side of Bangladesh, Karimganj is the town falling on this side of India in the state of Assam.

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