To Be Called a Red

To transcend labels,

this was my original life’s goal.

To walk the path of life

thinking about nothin but the soul.

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But obsession with the soul,

with meaning and existence,

is a waste of breath and privilege,

and all of it a heart blockage to resistance.

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Then one day

after much trial and dread,

I find a word for my existence,

I called myself a red.

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No it was not an insult,

not the act of bullies. I swear.

It just became apparent one day,

and from that day on I was aware.

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To decolonize thought,

to remove the stink of imperialism,

it is the epitome of chance,

just a phrase called “dialect materialism.”

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Death to the kings,

and the rich parasites.

Tremble at our sacred rage,

as the old order will feel our might.

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All of the workers and beggars

shall one day reign over all the world, land, and sea.

March! March on fellow toilers!

And one day soon shall we be free.

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