![Celebrating the [womb]an. Without HER, there is no HERitage
Battle cries of my forefathers echo forth through generations as they fought to the death for whats rightfully theirs. My foremothers mourn grief and utter devastation, a heritage diluted from their tears of despair. HERITAGE raped by colonial sadists planting their seeds on native soil. HERITAGE forced to honor their God by the blood-stained blade of a sword!
My birth marked wounds are of a tormented past… forgotten… and faded into pigmentation. But these hips support a womb that will bear and give rise to an army of conscious generations! And my gift to you my beautiful seeds, is of our ancestral struggle delicately wrapped in blood, sweat and tears. This single heirloom that will remain unchanged throughout the course of these turbulent years.
May your minds, and your voices be, the point of a spear gripped by revolutionaries of our past. But may your intentions be peace that coheres our tribes into a unified alliance at last.
Because our bodies weren’t created for this filth…this filth driven society fueled by violence and hate towards your foe or your enemy? But as fighters we stand unwavering, with a discourse that must be conveyed. An oration of hidden wisdom to be carefully unearthed and obeyed.
And respected using our tools of knowledge to reconnect, realize, redefine and rebuild as we rely…
On the most high to lead us on the straight way, our crowns to the earth five times a day. May He keep us in remembrance and never forget, for His cause was the reason our ancestors wept. but we move… forward… with determination as our soles hit concrete but we can never forget the dirt that was trekked by our forefathers feet .
Battlecries
Photo: Agra, India](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lhtzfmtlvw1qhj60so1_500.jpg)
Celebrating the [womb]an. Without HER, there is no HERitage
Battle cries of my forefathers echo forth through generations as they fought to the death for whats rightfully theirs. My foremothers mourn grief and utter devastation, a heritage diluted from their tears of despair. HERITAGE raped by colonial sadists planting their seeds on native soil. HERITAGE forced to honor their God by the blood-stained blade of a sword!
My birth marked wounds are of a tormented past… forgotten… and faded into pigmentation. But these hips support a womb that will bear and give rise to an army of conscious generations! And my gift to you my beautiful seeds, is of our ancestral struggle delicately wrapped in blood, sweat and tears. This single heirloom that will remain unchanged throughout the course of these turbulent years.
May your minds, and your voices be, the point of a spear gripped by revolutionaries of our past. But may your intentions be peace that coheres our tribes into a unified alliance at last.
Because our bodies weren’t created for this filth…this filth driven society fueled by violence and hate towards your foe or your enemy? But as fighters we stand unwavering, with a discourse that must be conveyed. An oration of hidden wisdom to be carefully unearthed and obeyed.
And respected using our tools of knowledge to reconnect, realize, redefine and rebuild as we rely…
On the most high to lead us on the straight way, our crowns to the earth five times a day. May He keep us in remembrance and never forget, for His cause was the reason our ancestors wept. but we move… forward… with determination as our soles hit concrete but we can never forget the dirt that was trekked by our forefathers feet .
Battlecries
Photo: Agra, India
