Rise Mexica Movement Rise

****Dedicated to the Women and Men Warriors of the Mexica Movement for all they do for our People****


Rise Mexica Movement;
In the face of racism and injustice of our Brown people Rise,
When no one else will demonstrate, boycott or march
Rise Mexica Movement Rise....


When everyone else is so busy with their little life details
Rise Mexica Movement Rise,
Not in Perfection but draped in determination and willingness
to rise to the occasion, Rise Mexica Movement Rise....


With Education, facts, and sound reason
Rise Mexica Movement Rise,
When everyone else runs and scatters
Rise Mexica Movement Warriors Rise....


I thank you with every tear that falls from these half breed eyes
We thank you with every ounce of precious blood that was spilt
from our Ancestors
Rise Mexica Movement Rise....


A great man (Malcolm X) once said....
"If you are not part of the Solution then you are part of the problem!"
Rise Mexica Movement Rise
continue being a solution to our peoples problems....

Rise Mexican Movement Warrior RISE....


May 9, 2013
Copyrights Chicahuac Necahuatl © 2013-2016

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is just a small appreciation for the Men and Women Warriors of the Mexica Movement. Mexica Tiahua!

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Dreams of demise and the rise from exile

From seats of power, those in control decided to use
their most powerful weapon against the people;
not bombs, or mechanized armies, but an unholy creation
of flesh and blood; a living weapon. To suppress the rebellious
children, who had turned on their elders, punishment came from beyond
the depths of the heavens. From his place of exile, he watched
and waited on the hour their demise would descend.

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Death is the only pathway to salvation

To save his people, genocide was the only answer
he could find in his heart;
the systematic cleansing of each soul; of his race was their only walk to salvation
in the face of a fate truly worse than the death he offered in kindness.
At the mercy of things beyond his control, he found himself.

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concrete casket

garbage waste human filth
i cant live life without guilt
toward pollution this world tilts
man creates a flower wilts
ozone depleating earth deterioration
natures genocide mans creation
paving roads tearing down trees
we are natures deadly disease

ch: why do we do it
set fire to the place that we call home
why do we kill it
the only place weve ever known

create build tear it down
man made ruins all around
paved jungle of fucking shit
nothing left if we dont quit
dead animals the blood flows
carcasses cascade the side of the road
nature suffers man persevers
nothing left the end is near


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   Would you have preferred listen to the whisper?

 Of the cracking dried rose under your feet?

Or the silence of the deads?

Would you prefer looking at the smile of a child?

Or the remains of an infant in S-24?


Turn your head the other way,

It is easier, ignorance is bliss!

But don’t complaint,

Their skulls spoke louder,

Then any living proses.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

those few lines spoke louder then the anger i could scream at .



The line of bodies whirling around the hill. Each face painted with a mask of fear, each limb tied up with the rope of cruelty!

Waiting, so gently waiting…

Far ahead, the red tongue of the glowing fire licks the arch of the fatal door!
The owl of the wind carries the ashes, grey misty rain falling over their ghostly frames. Breathing before expiring the dust of their Sybil!
Every second, getting closer to the demons!

The line of bodies whirling around the hill, are cover with thick shadows.
The divine aura somehow, cannot pierce through the warm ashen clouds…
Sometime, the cry of a child stabbed the everlasting night and tears drop, brief sadness, filling their shaky being with a touch of peace…
Soon, to be murder again by terror!

Waiting ever so softly…Agnus Dei

Agnus dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,
Dona eis requiem

Libera me, domine, de morta aeterna
In die illa trementa.

Lamb of God, who takest away the world` s sins, grant them rest.
Deliver me, o lord, from eternal death in that awful day.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

part 2 of a poem about War 2 and Hilthler.

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Can you hear the call of the ziganes? Their vitriolic throats filtering the air, to spite the names of their love’s one, with fork tongues!

The blossom sky breaking under the spell of their long banshees, leaving places, to dusty golden wounds on his greyish face.

Hypnotic ghosts piercing through the ashes of their ancestors, flowers searching for new hopes…

Children’s of the holocaust, phoenix of a new millennium…

Keep growing, holding tight, twisted around the fine line of life!

And as the bursting lips of the clouds gave their last remorseful wet cry, the call of the ziganes invade the space with ever more fervour!

The world wears his most dignified black dress, to come and pay tribute to his burn’s one.

His windy fingers felting the rusty wires, where so many hands had bled!
Caressing the walls with feather tenderness, the stone still impregnated by their screams…

The black lace of his robe flirting with the mournful soil, where blood had fed his flesh.

His sunny eyes fill with new dawns, sweeps the shower’s rooms with sunrise tears, the smell of fear still haunting…

Children’s of the holocaust, phoenix of a new millennium…
Reborn from the fire of hate, listening to the call of their loves one, the ziganes are coming…


Author's Notes/Comments: 


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