The Reds

Pain.

Bullets ripping through the bodies of my people.

The original people.

Incarceration.

They put the original people in jail.

Where we cut each other’s throats.

Over a television channel.

Or a solo cup of kool-aid.

Nobility of humanity.

Griots, scholars, healers.

Stolen, brutalized, tortured.

Sorrow.

The best of us dying early deaths.

Violent deaths.

Martin was 39.

Malcolm was 39.

I’ve outlived Chairman Fred.

Huey didn’t see 50.

They scaled the heights.

Left their mark on the consciousness of all.

Inspired frauds and true revolutionaries alike.

What life is this?

Who will pick up the red flag?

Where I was born with a target on my forehead?

Where mothers nurse premature babies

In filthy hellholes?

Where warfare is above welfare?

Where entire countries are strangled?

By cruel callous ignoble men?

Who lives like this?

And does nothing?

Nihilism is tempting.

Fatalism is tempting.

Lose yourself in drugs and drink.

Work and indulge until you die.

Become an exploiter, fuck the world.

Many have succumbed.

Why not have an easy life?

But, my friend.

My comrade.

Remember.

When the oceans boil away.

When the green fields bake in the unforgiving sun.

Don’t forget the sun gives life, and takes it too.

When the earth eventually is dashed to pieces.

Were you a real human?

Did you lay siege to the castles of the wicked?

Did you try?

Did you accomplish?

Did you achieve?

Will humanity still exist

Because you were one of the many

Who dared to storm the heavens?

Or did you wait?

Did you succumb to an easy life?

Did you wait for others to do?

While you bide your time?

Did you walk away from your duty?

Explain to your progeny

How you fought the Red heroes

How you called them violent.

Naive

Ultras

Cultists

Crazies

And yet they exist and thrive in the beautiful world

That the Reds died in their tens of thousands

To build.

The Reds lost families.

Friends.

Jobs.

The Reds marched through sweltering jungles

Broiling deserts

The Reds ate ramen while you ate steak.

The Reds saw no rest.

No peace.

The Reds killed and died.

And asked nothing for it.

Thought nothing of it.

Yet they saved all from destruction.

What did you do?

The fruits of victory

Are not easy to grab

They are plucked from high trees

Watered with the blood of the best of humanity

And you’ve no right to sit out the fight

Yet dare to take a seat at the table

Secured by those who bled and suffered

So that all could live.

Be a Red.