Wrinkles on our dreams
I woke with marble in my hands
What does it mean?
I am descendent of centuries
Not independent, not autonomous
I am a falling into dreams
Of generations and pupils of elders
It would be very difficult
To think of myself as separate
I inherit euro-centric bias
And I take part unwittingly in patriarchy
I live in an economic simulation
What does this mean?
It means reality is not culture
Social conditions is only a layer
Of existence, my hands disappear
In my dreams, for I know my ancestors
Committed murder, waged false wars
So a few could profit
And the many would remain slaves
Feudalism never died, it only
Masked itself in a homogenous
Globalization of pretend liberties
I wake up with dreams of my own
That I’ve likely been programmed for
My desires are the software
And I am the obedient application
I labour, I do what I am told
How can I innovate in a world
In a world where strangers
Are competitors and scarcity
Is a growing concern of failing economies
I haven’t seen myself in the mirror
Where has my soul gone to visit?
Wuji Seshat 