Dead Hounds
Dead hounds
Laid out on the red grounds
Dead hounds laid down everywhere
We can go pound for pound
And I can swear
They were the same strays
that barked at me
as I crossed their unmarked territories.
Dead hounds,
Laid down on the red grounds
Underneath the grey clouds.
Grey clouds in October's midst
What the fuck happened to you, Addis?
Your skies used to be clear this time of year,
but that no longer is the case now, miss.
I hear barks everywhere but when I head out,
I ain't see no loud bitch,
Except the stench from the hounds
Who all happened to be dead now, bitch.
Dead hounds, grey clouds,
Red crowns, make proud men
wash their hands from the blood
that ain't dissolved by water.
Takes you motherfuckers years to learn
that these problems ain't solved by murder
of identities, the only intangible things you can offer.
ውስጡ ግብዝ ሆኖ ውጪው ፈጣሪን የፈራ
እንዲመስልለት
እድፍ ልብሱን አጥኖት በአቧራ፣
ጽሀይ ስትጠልቅለት፣ ሲለው ያን ዳንኪራ፣
ዕብሪተኛ አንደበቱ፣ ሲነዛ ያንን ጉራ፣
ሲነጋ ሚያፍርበትን፣ ሌት ሙሉ ሲያቅራራ፣
ሽንፈት መዋረዱን “ድል” ብሎ ሲያብራራ
ያድርና፣ ይነሳል፣
“እንደው ባይኖርስ?” ለሚያስብለው ደመወዙ ሊሰራ።
Earthquakes splitting my land,
from December all the way to January.
Tell me the things you like
and I can use them as a litmus paper
to test your proximity,
towards the ways of your own purgatory.
Love letters written by Times New Roman,
so corporate,
the tired brute woman incorporates
verbal violence to her ever-growing repertoire,
skillsets that ensure the recipe to everlasting
loneliness.
Fierce and blue lights,
piercing through eyes,
too strong for the lenses,
true songs of expenses,
being sang to the masses,
but unheard and neglected.
Blue lights, through eyes,
yet this herd ain’t selected.
Too many herds,
too little packs,
one dagger, one sword,
can have them all stacked.
“Sadness prevails, hopelessness rules.
For how many days will this hell ensue?”
I ask myself before saying
what is long overdue.
I got my family on sight,
my niggas too on my side
long since my mind been set right.
Sadness won’t prevail when simplicity ensues.
And if a cup of coffee
as well as a good laugh
with the ones I love
is enough
for me to break a fucking smile,
then on God, this is living,
on God, this is living,
on God, this is living.
Dead hounds laid out on the red grounds,
and overfed clowns taking pride from red crowns,
dressed in blood they have to wash
off their hands every night
won’t derail me from finding my joy in spite.
And if the pups of the dead breathe life…
And when the pups of the dead breathe life,
then I have every reason to seek strife, do you get it?
Hell, every season breeds triumph,
if we let it.
