Sunni Patterson (Video)
- When they read of this moment,
- they will see how we endure.
- And they will wonder how we made it,
- how we could live through such a time
- and still smile and create and celebrate,
- even though walls of panic and loss
- continue to build up around us.
- So they will shake their heads
- in astonishment.
- They will question how we survive
- without hugs, and second lines,
- and community gatherings,
- or they will drum up
- every conspiracy theory,
- and most of them will be correct.
- They will fill the anger of the era,
- the frustration of the season.
- They will pick apart the science
- and discover to their surprise.
- For there was so much more hidden.
- This virus was a disguise.
- They will tremble at the revelation
- and tears will come to their eyes.
- For they will see the essence
- of being in the living and those who died
- or when they read, they will see,
- how this time
- provided a shift in foundation
- and frequency,
- how it challenged outdated systems
- and let go of antiquated beliefs,
- how we were forced to grow
- our courage and practice care
- in the midst of grief,
- or when they research about these days,
- from the uprisings to the downfalls.
- They will unravel the knots,
- they will connect the dots,
- and they too will heed the call
- with dignity and integrity,
- ancestral wisdom and pride,
- where creativity and imagination move
- head and heart into alignment.
- And they will know
- because they will feel the power
- and presence of devotion
- and will of culture, of spirit,
- of justice, of light,
- of oneness, of harmony,
- of divinity, and insight.
- Or when they read of this moment,
- they will see how we endure,
- and they will
- still question how we made it,
- and we will say, Well, how could we not?
- Yeah.
- Not my potions, or my spells,
- not my crawfish, or my crabs,
- not my brass, or my ass.
- Ain't none of it for sale.
- Not my cemetery, or my temple,
- not my land, or my love,
- not my plarines, or my huckabucks,
- ain't none of it for sale.
- Oh you peeping Toms and Sallys,
- you Wisconsins and Nebraskas,
- you thieves and tax collectors.
- Ain't nothin' over here for sale.
- Not my theater, or my park,
- not my music, or my art,
- not my soul, or my heart.
- Ain't none of it for sale.
- Oh you bandits and you conmen,
- you dumpster divers and hoodlums,
- keep your eyes off my prize,
- cause ain't nothin' over here for sale.
- Not my shotgun, or my cottage,
- not my ballrooms,
- not none of my houses,
- now if you ain't hear it
- in the last announcement,
- ain't nothin' over here for sale.
- Not my nan-nan, or my parrain,
- not my auntie, or my granny, my papa,
- not none of my family.
- I'm telling you,
- ain't nothin' of mine for sale.
- Not my sinners, or my saints,
- not my coulds, not even my can'ts.
- Don't see the picture,
- let me grab my paint.
- Make it pretty, pretty,
- use proper language,
- Oh there is nothing
- over here that's for sale.
- Not my culture, or my crown,
- this city has had enough of you clowns,
- want to build it up, but keep me down,
- oh anything to make that sale.
- You want me to give you all I got,
- you want my window and my pot.
- Now, Lord knows it ain't a lot,
- oh but it's mine, and it ain't for sale.
- I see you don't know me or my kind.
- My heritage, my history, my line,
- my dignity, my legacy, my pride.
- Oh some things just ain't up for buyin'.
- So while you gentrify and you plot,
- while you calculate and a lot,
- of all the things,
- just put this one on top,
- ain't nothin' over here for sale.