In honour of stephen lawrence and all those taken by racism
And Still I Rise
Poem by Rayhanah
Somebody asked me what it is that I want to be
But there’s a thousand and one things that stand out to me
Like when I grow up I wanna be a teacher
And teach all the things that teachers couldn’t teach
Like how to pay tax
What it means to believe
And to understand that to be black means to be free
When I grow up I wanna be happy
Without being misconceived
And I want to smile until my cheeks bleed
And my lungs burst with ecstasy
I want my family to be proud of me
I wanna be bigger than a rat in this race
I want to make history in this place that wasn’t made for me
Wasn’t made for us
But what if this place is made for us?
What if our soldiers were only in the sky,
maybe the sunset wouldn’t be so pretty
But maybe the echoes of our heartbeats would be loud enough to wake our ancestors
What if these modern day blues had enough rhythm, enough tears to rewrite the past
To heal all the scars from off their legs, from off their backs
What if we had the power to bring them back
So we ask God
Why won’t you bring them back?
They flew too close to the sky
And I know freedom means to fly
But only when you can come back down again
I think we want our mothers back
Our sisters and our cousins back
I think we need our tears back
Our scars and our peers back
Their names are worth more than sacks full of gold
And their stories deserve to be told
But the world never tells it right
So I might just become a teacher
To teach all the lessons teachers couldn’t teach
Like how to pay tax
What it means to believe
And to understand that to be black means to be free
See the world sees us differently
They have no reason to treat us differently
Because I bleed and you bleed so what makes you so different from me
We could move mountains with this inequality
We have more light than the stars
We’re the sun itself
We light the sky, the moon and the candles on every shelf
Our skin is art within itself
But not many people know that
So I might just become a teacher
To teach all the lessons teachers couldn’t teach
Like how to pay tax
What it means to believe
And to understand that to be black means to be free
But our modern day faces always seem to scream history
Like when our ancestors were enslaved
Because the melanin in our skin was too much to be burnt by the sun
But was still enough to be marked by their whips
And they would bleed
Waterfalls of thick red rays that would concede their purpose of living
But would be enough to conceal the colour of their skin
But it’s beautiful
But we’re beautiful
We’re powerful
Our music is soulful
But our voices are happy
They scream until their lungs rattle
This freedom was a battle
But this smile is a chore
But the success was made for us
This place is made for me
This place is made for all of us
So I might just become a teacher
To teach all the lessons teachers couldn’t teach
Like how to pay tax
What it means to believe
And to understand that to be black means to be free