Popping, Locking, Boogaloo,
you do the Kris Kross movement in front of me,
showing your talents in raps,
protests the marginalized status you’re in.
Born to be a black man is not a sin,
your face glows with pride and dignity.
The multifarious facets of the society,
leaving you in despair with every steps you take,
Prejudice, Injustice and Hostility
strangled your neck and made you hard to breath,
choking back tears and bit your lips.
Appealing to politics for a platform to dance,
dreams fulfilled yet too strong the conserved force,
“Anarchy is the state of your mind”, you said to me.
Graffiti is the art you let off your steam.
Sitting on the windowsill,
humming a strange tune and reading a speech,
Martin Luther King’s noble aspiration swept you away.
John Ogbu’s theory illustrated the minorities’ education struggles,
a picture too heart-breaking to see.
Back to the familiar dance hall
leaving the stage empty and the heteroglossia behind,
you turned the spotlight on.