He Took a Knee


“He took a knee and for that he was treated like sh…t.”
Don’t say anything. How dare you? You don’t want us
The owners to deny their fee. Don’t you remember …
Where they came from? From the sh…t –hole countries.
Just for that they don’t deserve any respect…

And so it goes a litany of complaints from those
Who have it all and yet play with the players
As the cat with the mouse at the chasing stage
Always teasing to let go while holding tight
You are mine and with you I’ll make as much
As I want out of you cause you’re also a mine.

What on earth all that comes from? After all,
We are in the land of the brave and the free
Where everyone can speak their mind,
However for blacks it must be clear, for real,
don’t do it here, do it away, not so near…
in the rear, where we don’t see you so clear.

And in your own time; don’t waste ours
Don’t ask for what doesn’t exist. You
don’t have any right to complain for other’s
pain, don’t U forget; if you are here is on us.
You did not earn this. We gave it to you…
We have been so good. We are the masters
The children of god who is white, not dark like
You– disgraceful, distasteful, deceitful creature…
Unlike us, just forgetful, and who cares about that?

Yes, we are the ones who made you sad and bad
Working for us, for as long as we want what about
Since we capture you through the colonial times
Up to today, with no pay other than the chain …
The hunger, the humiliation and the pain.
You’re ours, you still are, what’s there for us
to regret? We still own you, and buy you
and sell all the heck we want, your image,
you strength, your submission, your ass!

You made us rich, while you got dead trashed…
By us, we are so bad, it’s been fun, it still is
To run after you with a gun and shoot …
No questions asked !!! Whether you are guilty
or not, who cares? It’s been like that for a long time
Up to the 1800, no voice, no land, no vote, the worst jobs,
if anything at all: No mule, no reparations…
Segregation, denigration, humiliation, starvation…
If we continue to tell your story, they’d not believe us
But we’d blame it on you, “if you are not rich is your fault
You did not move your ass to be rich like us, who
Took the Indians land and salve the African man.”

Now let’s make a revision to see if they are right:

Is your voice really heard by those in power? The rich
The masters, who take your gesture as defiance
When you loudly speak your outrage in silence.

While bending your knee to signal humbly you
Don’t agree with the injustices many of us know
your people have gone through, always, they took                                                                         you as a threat, a lie, and an insult. Never to see                                                                             or hear your voice saying, “Something is not right!
And I cannot stand to celebrate that!”

For the brothers and sisters who have died many a time
in vain and pain, resisting with a bullet in their backs,
or a broken neck, while they dared to say it was you
who inflicted it upon yourself. How stupid they are.
Bleeding bodies badly bubbling from a brutal barbaric
policeman’s shot in the street and why not in their homes,
in the backyard of those who work hard and did not care                                       to be commodities of meat markets like the NBA or the NFL.

For those who are still around us and bleeding in their hearts,
All those despised so much today…despite the slavery raid.
For those who have not sold themselves; for the fallen ones
Right now, right here, hoping you do it with me: I also take a knee.

Acerca de Clara Sotelo

Born in Bogotá, Colombia. Studied and specialized in languages--maternal and foreig, anthropology, feminism, literature, social change and justice, environmental issues, and more.
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