Ultra-Magnetic MC's

Hip Hop Hip Hop KNOW YOUR HISTORY!

Melisendra

La forjaron de las lágrimas de un volcán,

con una lengua de fuego que se veía desde

el albaycín hasta el Kilimanjaro.

Le dio color al día y a la vida…

Hecha de añil de Ginkgo biloba, cada

momento único y solitario como su corazón,

el que sólo se alcanzaba con el velero de la razón

que se mezclaba con el cielo, cielo carmín en

matrimonio dulce como el pionono.

¿Será ella la mezquita escondida en este mundo

de nombres falsos y tópicos?

¿Será ella el suelo que se estira por la voluntad de mi

frente?

Pues lo haré… Caminaré hasta el día en que me pueda

quitar estas botas y relajarme en sus brazos,

mis tobillos rendidos en las chanclas…

MY good brother and fellow Missing LinX member drops a trailer for his upcoming cinepoetry video with Partus Films. Looking forward for his video to drop. He deserves this.
Nationless!

Idle No More

Persuaded by children and blizzards

I crack the hard shell of indecision

proclaiming my reluctance in the belief

that I'm not so sure.

Sitting securely in my movement,

I think of water and light

Their enchanting dance through creation

I wonder for my friends

those who walk on fours, threes, those who fly

those who gallop and waddle across terrains

I can only dream of becoming familiar.

Standing stoic in my direction

I'm pensive about my food, its taste, its quality,

the nomadic ones that travel crippled from poison

meant to make it be something it is not

The colors that add vivaciousness to necessity of

feeding, from breasts of hands to poor to worry about

clenching their fists and screaming for serenity.

Running officiously through my inertia,

I propel my observation to the prospect of harmony

between those who look like me,

walk like me

think like me

but are of course, not me, but their own human selves.

Idolizing only the ability to say, We Are HERE,

And YEs We MOVE

Idle No More

Idle No More

Idle No More

England

London knows its history and laughs about it.

It is a serious matter. 

Londoners are myriads of pale and dark tears. 

A Russian downs a Vodka at 11 A.M on the bus. 

The Filipino barista serves up a skinny latte and wraps her 

mind around her new accent. 

Everyone watches everyone. No body looks at you. 

CCTV watches and looks at everything

on the bus, the station, the stall, the stairway, 

the workplace, the dorms, your room, 

your patterns. wherever you go, they follow. 

Scotland Yard's finest do fear with no gun but 

a dark baton encapsulating all hope of swelling. 

It rains, horizontally the way i saw it. 

It is cold, and i'm Canadian. 

Its not the weather i'm talking about. 

But the intimacy, a type of mercy deficiency. 

A lack of outward compassion. 

I have faith it is there, hidden around sarcastic frigid remarks. 

Or maybe they are used to it, 

watching others struggle while you laugh at the irony of a colony. 

They say when all hope is gone and faith is exhausted 

the oppressed embrace their oppressor 

like the merciful embrace their mothers. 

The Blood & Gold in El Dorado, El Salvador.

The Classic Friendship.

If you can't make fun of each other then what else do you got