Art

Women Ran This Shit Before the British

Alright sis
With your brown lips
And your dark skin
Your hair a black tint
Stronger than rope
Go get it, Rani
They should’ve known a queen runs this shit
Before they came uninvited
Split up your land, gave it to the man
What good are those men when
The kingdom lives on the ground you knit
The horses you birthed
Drinks from the wells you bit
Lives on the mountains you built
Pull themselves up from the very rope that grows from your head, well shit.
When they took your land
You danced
The ground shook with your thighs
Cracks in the ground
Monsoons like your eyes
You cried
And when the Rani cries
From the trees grow rinds
No fruit inside
Floods pouring from the skies
The men drowned in your rain
How are they going to grow food in soil that’s as hot as the blood boiling in your veins?
No more honey dripping from your brown lips now, Rani.
Then I see you today.
With a mean mug like fuck out my way
With your Jordan’s loosely laced
With your jeans squeezing your waist
Like Stevia, your lips drip fake honey
When you go out and get money
And when you dance now, the ground still shakes
Your kingdom still quakes
There’s monsoons like your eyes
But the white man makes it rain.

Image courtesy of Riya Varma