Appropriate

Amar Shah · Appropriate

Gladly give I yoga to the pretty
girls and hairy men, and all the pretty,
hairy people, to all the backs that bend.

Gladly give I bindi, biryani,
but bid from me these gifts because...why?
I wear no bindi, my baby, never fed
biryani. Why me?
Why look to me
and say, Amar, may I teach a yoga
class? Amar, is it appropriate to drink
a glass of mango lassi before the platter,
sorry, thali, served?
Why do you place
upon me wicked, twisted crown and call
me king of fools? Because you guilty are.

Not of anything I know you did.
You feel the shame of what you didn't say.
You never spoke a word to have my roti
served while you eat, too. That, white like you
were all the children who, no mercy, tenderness,
dragged me. That, white like you are all the women
eyeing me suspiciously and turning
up their nose at scent of curry, when
I roll in, roll out the mat, to turn the
sacred wheel.
I say, enough, yes, it is
appropriate. It's appropriation when
I cannot be the Indian I am
because you've taken what belongs to me.
It's not appropriation if we, Indians
both be, bringing birthrights forward from
humanity.
Let them be black who are.
Let them glisten, shine. Let them rise
into their power. Accept them when they say:

Submit to me, for I shall take what's mine.
I, proudly black, I say it loud. I take
everything you took, I take it back.
You never had it anyway, you only
took a shadow of the black.
The black,
the black suits of the Power. Hugo Boss,
Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana. D'y'ever
see a woman shamed for dressing like
a man? (Of course you have. To be a woman
is to have the bastards shame you.) But did
you find it fair, to shame her sporting boxer
shorts and buttoning up her Oxford? Because
the men are free to be the men they want
to be. No buxom babe behind a button-up
is gonna bum them out.
There's no appropriation
of a man, no appropriation
of a wyt cis str8 & able man.
Would you shame me? Am I to blame, that my truth
speaks in glory borrowed from the bards
of Avon: globetrotters, robbers, rapists
of my land? Would you shame me, I
cannot speak the language of my land?
Not any of them, hundreds be.
Let the
black ones be as black as zero, black
as vantablack, two points, three points, ten points
blacker than the blackest black. They stretch
and pull you in across event horizon, they are
so black. You tried to whiten them, you tried
to terrify them into cowardice.
It didn't work. Not even chain could take
the black.
Let them rise into their power,
power-to and power shared, not over.
Liberate us, let the liberty to everyone,
to person be, as black as they can be,
as black as they can be.
As black as we
can be, as black as we can let us be.

Slam!

I am master of the passive aggressive.
Poems take your aggression out. Your passion
I, compassionately here, am for.
No more slammed doors,
nor mumbles meant, unheard.
Sound it out. At slam: throw down your words.

Amar Shah · "Curfew" / "Slam!"

Curfew

Amar Shah · "Curfew" / "Slam!"

Don't have to be't home t'observe the curfew.
The law is clearly stated: cannot be
in company of unexcepted.
The
exception's made for "partner" so I'll ask
my friend if it applies. You know, I follow
every rule up to the letter—mind
your business, mask, and I'll mind mine.

to pay the debts of freedom

1. What a new day!
2. Catch the sword,
3. Second run upon the way:
4. Savage breaks,
5. for whom?
6. Oblivion,
7. "Sag mir, wo die Blumen sind," sung
   by Amar Shah. Text by Max Colpet,
   German-language translation of "Where
   have all the flowers gone?" by Pete Seeger
   (1955) and Joe Hickerson (1960).
8. Yesterday,

Amar Shah · to pay the debts of freedom

Yesterday,

when I was young, too old
for cheerios, cartoons. Just enough
to pay the debts of freedom.
Yesterday
I took myself for morning run, to blow
my kisses down, delightful in the water.

Yesterday, when I was young, too old
for cheerios, cartoons, too old for toys...
too young to bravely state myself of age,
too young to go before the bench and pay
the debts of freedom, cowered, clutching fear
of terrored father.
Yesterday I took
myself for run and stepping round the bend,
1 2, 1 2, the sun!
Graceful, gaining
height in morning sky. Right there, not slowing
(1 2 1 2),
I struck my arm out to
the sun, my index finger pointing, I said, "Sun!

It's you, the sun!" My son, it's you. You are
my son. Oh sunny boy, you are my One!

Yesterday, when I was young.

Amar Shah · Yesterday

Oblivion

Amar Shah · Oblivion

For you,

for all
Creators: Artists, Singers, Writers, Readers,
Rappers, Trappers, house-arrested steppers.
Without you there'd be absolutely nothing
for Listeners,
stitchers, snickers, flickers, posters and
playlisters. In the bath, you most engrossed,
at the station, making time. Exam-
inations, no A-level takes you off
the level. Worthy jobs? No, petty businesses,

setting hours unsteady—no one diverts you
from your listening. Without you there's no reason.
Without you, nothing: Listener.

Amar Shah · For you