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By Qadir Shabazz

1 min read

Off your feet,

Spring not like the season.

From within your soul,

Captive not your mind.

Release the grip of your lively intentions,

To breathe is not a crime.

Understand that stagnance is the Sandman,

For that matter your dreams become sand.

A sandstorm,

Inside of your home,

Where you live.

Make your environment a reflection,

A vision of who you are.

Off your feet,

Spring not like the season.

The hole within your chest,

Filled with cobwebs,

Pigs do not have wings.

Remove your delusions of possibilities.

Logic - a safe haven,

Theories become innovations.

Off your feet,

Off your feet now.

Spring spring spring !

Up up up !

Now now now !

Projecting the babylonian code of Inspiration,

Through the megaphone that existed before christ himself.

I’m off my feet,

I’m up like the spring.

Bullet wounds in my stussy,

Through my carhartt,

Into my melanin pigment.

Wrist cuffed,

My neck hurts a lot in this position.

My saliva drips from yelling.

All because I’m inspired.

I hope they repent these conservative gatekeepers,

I hope the last of a dying breed,

Get to breathe at least.

Off your feet,


Spring allllllll the way up now

And don’t come back down.

*Originally published in-print in Boston Compass Newspaper #143 February 2022


Check out all the art and columns of February's Boston Compass at


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