The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

In honor of Gil Scott Heron, the original ‘The Revolution will not be televised‘ poet, releasing a new album after a long absence, below is a poem by KABOBfriend Nader Abusumaya in which he pays homage to his fellow Chicagoan.

I was told 2 wrongs don’t make a right, but four rights make a box, enclosed fixtures, locked and guarded wit 8 shot glocks.

I don’t got no time for circular motions, floating ideas, or miracle potions

Notions that prologue status quos, like armed Israeli soldiers facing sling shots wit stones

Or eighty year old souls clutching keys and deeds

Watching TVs that praise progress made for this so-called Mideast peace

Yo, I aint progressive, or idealist, a neo-con or a realist

I’m a straight aiming, steady-shot, hip hop in my veins, one stop shop, chip off the whole block

My moms and pops dropped

Their third seed on the 13^th of September

Instilled nationalistic pride,

instead of Santa, I’m sending letters to Palestine but they come back return to sender

maybe I forgot a stamp, or misaddressed it, I swore man I double checked it,

maybe that’s it….my mistake….next time fuck a pencil, im using some shit wit ink

permanently written, this time no excuses….but same story man, damn, this shits useless

Like Palestinian passports, or broken seatbelts going 85 on a head on crash course

Ha, that was funny….. like axis of evil comedy tours, but instead of punch lines im coming thru rapidly wit force

Last resorts are plenty to come by….as this thick tear gas prevents me from seeing the sunshine

Learning to keep one eye open in my deep sleep

But I don’t got a good view as if im sitting in the cheap seats

Wit Bloody noses, IDF soldiers scattering crowds faster than white cops wit fire hoses

6 day wars imploded on contact, serine summer days voided like contracts,

I’ma combat erroneous facts, like mislabeled maps,  I’m taken it back like spinal taps

You steady denying my existence? Calling me stubborn, but I am UNDENIABLY persistent,

I believe in One land for Muslims, Jews, and Christians

Olive trees, donkeys and chickens

Rolling hills, mountains, breathtaking views, unrestricted family visits

I’m all about Freedom fighters, graffiti writers, grass roots organizers

Minors that refuse the violence

Instead climbing Apartheid walls, slinging rocks and South African diamonds

I gotta deal with stagnated politics, fancy rhetoric, leaders falling asleep at the wheel like truck drivers on sedatives

The revolution will not be televised, instead I’ma blast fax it

My space alerts, facebook, and text messages, but that’s it

Its that quick, even faster than Zionist bastards reloading Uzi clips

Loosening grips of the nooses, I got my mind set on starting the next movement

From Palestinian streets in Jenin, Abu Qash, Tul Karem, Haifa, to beit Jeeze

to these chi town streets

Biting back the hand that feeds you,

or in this case

we fighting the man that’s evil

imperialistic prerogatives cramping my style?

Got me Hell bent on revenge, as I rage inside wit a half smile

As I stretch out my right arm and clutch a fist

We only got one option comrades

And that is

To resist!

Tags: Fayyad, hip hop, palestinian, poetry

This entry was posted on Friday, February 19th, 2010 at 6:09 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.