Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I`ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
`Cause I walk like I`ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like sun,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I`ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don`t you take it awful hard?
`Cause I laugh like I`ve got gold mines
Diggin` in my own backyard?
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I`ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise?
That I dance like I`ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history`s shame
Into a daybreak that`s wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
No words really need to be spoken or written about Maya Angelou; it has all been placed in our memories by her gentle, and generous heart, which beat with the injustice and anger at the slavery inflicted upon her ancestors. It was a mental slavery, as well as physical: an apartheid of ideological and intellectual segregation, as well as physical servitude and isolation. It still exists with a vengeance in modern society to various degrees, but perhaps, most of all in the country of the free, where the, so called “free” are still denied a meal at the top table with the white man, despite the presence of a black man as president. Still I Rise is as relevant today in many parts of America, as the day it was written, and that is to the eternal shame of us all.