What colonialism does to the world is ratchet

It’s used as a facet

In the enslavement of masses

It gains power over brackets

Of economic classes

Collecting blood drenched taxes

Oppressing generations and telling them to hack it

And here we are

Forced to believe democracy is the best practice

When our versions inconsistent and allows capitalism to buy passes

Neoliberal fascists

They use the system to torture and harass us

Keeping tabs with satellites to track us

Convincing us they’re NASA’s

So today I’m calling bullshit on their sorry Pinocchio asses.

By Nivie Dhami

Ik Narivadi



I invite you all
to take a little time
to wonder my mind
with thoughts and words that rhyme

I warn you though,
not all of these words are kind.

I hate that in this country I’m supposed to feel some sort of free,
when in this country there are people that go to sleep hungry.

I hate that people act like they care,
by clicking on like buttons on Facebook shares.

I hate the word slut
for how its used
as tools of abuse,
I hate even more that we don’t tak about these issues

I hate that education is key to the locked golden doors
SHUNNED to those that don’t have that sort of money.

I hate that my address is supposed to tell you something about my life
as my self proclaimed victories hide under piles of self loath and strife.

I fuckin hate,
fuckin hate
fuckin hate the system
even more than that I hate that we blame each other for what IT does to us.

Alongside that hate,
I hate that I can’t express this without legislation’s deeming that expression unjust.

I hate that I’m so incredibly weird,
sometimes I even hate that I’m queer

Because in my reality both of these are something to fear.

I hate that when I express this in sweeter words,
people take me for a push over hippie bird.

Sometimes I even hate that I am kind
because it makes a truly good friend hard to find.

I have even begun to hate that I care,
in a cold world world that shows me that there is little love to spare.

I’m sick of being kind about these words,
because my message doesn’t seem to get across like prefer,
SO THIS TIME, I chose another angle,
To FOCUS our ATTENTION on this INTENSE web of lies and oppression,
That’s so fuckin’ tangled….

That’s so fuckin’ tangled.

A Poem by Nivie Dhami

My two min feminist rant. #Raw

If life is but an illusion, its really fucked up and confusin’, I’m sick of the rippin’, tearin’ and abusin’, this patriarchial battle I think we’re loosin, because of the sides we be choosin’.

Why can’t we just support our sisters, even if their choices leave blisters, why can’t we shy away from those ideas of pictures, idolizing these abusive misters.

We can’t we stand side by side, instead of holding on to our foolish pride, even when we hear our sisters cry, we turn our lights off and turn a blind eye, WHY?!

It doesn’t matter that we wear less, but it matters that we care less.

You give reasons to hate her, and give reasons not to date her, and call yourself an ally to the feminist movement?

Seeing the way you move and seeing the bullshit you do, take a seat,

feminist student.

A rant by Nivie Dhami

That time I walked into a room with no mirrors

I walked into a room with no mirrors, the room had been through more ridicule than my own fears.
And so the room didn’t know how to be, because there were no mirrors to dictate how to see.
Mirrors were such a big part of my life, It was these mirrors that encouraged self loathing and strife.
I relied on these mirrors everyday, so this room with no mirrors just blew me away.
I knew this room would soon change the way I feel, because I didn’t need the mirrors anymore to tell me how to be real.
I could strip the cages and unlock the doors, to this new room that put to end all the internal wars.
I was excited to be in this new room, where I would leap to truth and abloom,
I began to decorate the walls, I put up memories to remind me of the scars and falls, from the mirror dolls.
This room was now my home, because without the mirrors I no longer felt alone.
I could sit in the room without mirrors for days, because the room, like me, didn’t need the mirrors any way.

A Poem by Nivie Dhami

Who am I?

I am that person who stops to say hello, because I always hated goodbyes. I stand up for injustices because of the injustices I have caused. I like to smile at people, because I know what it is like to be sad. I like to be a part of healing because I have been the one to inflict pain. I love to dance, for all the times I am caged. I can let myself breathe, because I have taken breaths of my own life and given them to sorrow. I like to be present each moment, in memory of all the moments lost to anger. I allow myself to see the sun because the moons tides keep me humble. I am the only person I can be, who I am, because I am sick of being who I am not.

I am free, because I was not.

Nivie Dhami

The seat of appreciation #2015

I remember the first time I walked into the auditorium; it seemed so magical. I was filled with admiration, excitement and angst as I rushed to take a seat where I could.

I didn’t understand the power of where I would choose, how it would affect the way I see the stage, the actors and how this place would influence my place in the whole production. Regardless of the consequences of my decision, I had chosen the back of the auditorium. It was where my friends were, it was a place to have fun while we shared our angst and boredom; sometimes we were caught and punished and most of the time, we were too cool for school and got away with our mischief.

Time had passed like the years, and I became frustrated with my perspective. I was unable to hear the production and unable to truly appreciate the actors and their talents. I began to slouch in my chair and impatiently wait for a time when I could pick up and move to a better seat. As more time passed, the production began to loose it’s meaning, I was unable to hear the stories and feel the characters. I was sitting so far away where I had begun to become so comfortable with the background music that was being played around me.

Finally one year, as my frustration took over, I got up from my seat and decided that I was ready to walk out of the auditorium and would return only when I was ready to sit where I wanted to all along, but was too scared too.

As the doors opened to exit the auditorium, my hands began to shake and I become overcome by fear; so much so that I had forgotten how to walk or do anything. So I did the only thing I thought was possible, I fell, hard! I fell deep within the fabric of the outside world. I fell so deep I was able to see some magical things deep within the cusp of the different.

I saw the beauty that the sun was offering the plants and the beauty in the sky. The moon was wonderful too; the solstice was good to me.

I wondered deep within the unknown, not sure who I even was. I had spent so much time trying to fit in while watching the production that I hadn’t searched within myself. I crawled, I learned to walk, I fell again, I walked, I ran, and I fell some more.

Finally, as my magical journey had prepared me to renter the auditorium, I walked into the same room; but it looked different, really different. The seats seemed smaller than they were when I left. I walked deeper into the auditorium fascinated with the beauty inside. The lights, the structures, the writing on the walls I never knew existed. The beauty in the seats, how incredibly wonderful it all really was.

I walked deeper than I could see from where I had chosen to sit years before; before I knew it I turned to see where my loves were, and noticed they were all gone. I wasn’t scared anymore, I wasn’t intimidated anymore. I looked around at the unfamiliar and took an empty seat in the middle where the view felt just right. I watched the same production as the actors were louder than they were when I left. I could see them clearly, and it made me feel great.

I looked around in fascination and admiration, all the falls had prepared me for this moment. I had taken a seat that truly made me feel amazing. This production was more than it was when I had left. I looked up and realized that I had found my serenity in the seat of appreciation. I knew this was not where I would be for the whole production, but for now, it was where I wanted to be.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”

William Shakespeare

A poem by Nivie Dhami

What being Punjabi means to Nivie

I walk these colonized streets with Punjab’s light in my eye,

when I see people they always give me that colonized “hi”,

my skin carries my mom’s stories and my dad’s pride,

my nose ring hangs with the songs my Dadhi sang before she died.

“Where are you from?” is a question I have learned to hate,

I feel like yelling “I’m from the same land you’re from stop your ignant’ hate”,

Instead I answer with my Dadha’s pride and educate


Its not their fault,

it’s all they are taught,

their ancestors left India’s people to rot,

after taking everything that they had, GUN SHOTS’,

fired. Exhausting them from wars they fought.

for them, for their mistakes and greed for more,

my words carry stories from those that they hurt and the pain they store,

of the rape of land and women, stories of injustices and gore,

yet we still walk on the streets they tore,


We still walk with turbans to the sky,

We dance to bhangra with our warrior eyes ,

our mothers and sisters wear their suits with pride,

we carry our farms in all countries we carry the stories of those who have died.

In bluestar tears afraid of bluestar fears,

waiting for truth to persevere,

instead we are given less hope as (operation) bluestar nears,



A poem by Nivie Dhami

Is it because of my biology?

What I will never understand is why we think we must endure,

Why can’t we be confused before we are sure.

Why must there be special labels for our sisters…our friends?

Why is there no end;

To the hate put upon on us,

and the abuse and unjust?

Why does the world care so much about my pride,

isn’t it mine?

Those questions have answers they cannot handle,

I am sick of hearing it is a shame

that I am the flame

to my own candle.

Demands from all directions,

they seem like conceptions without perception,

only filled with deception.


A poem by Nivie Dhami

Because of fears, of heartbreaks and tears.

Sing a song for me,

Let the words set free, what your eyes refuse to see, and your heart can’t be, Let the words flow deep, Like all seven seas, let the meanings take control and create moments my soul can keep.

Let there be music in the silence of our stares,

Let yourself do things that you normally wouldn’t dare, let your heart be open and bare, to feel what is already there, the love and connect that makes you so scared, because life’s never fair, so dare, to care without despair.

Don’t be afraid to leap.

Because even though you might loose sleep, the trip is worth the experiences you’ll reap, it wont always be easy, fear may creep, up on your will and you may weep, but no pain is concrete, so simply delete, any doubt that might increase, your chance to cheat, yourself from true peace.

It is hard to trust and show,

How you feel to those, you may not really know, but avoid quid pro quo, life isn’t about games although, some play games and some bestow, the warmth that will come to grow, if your just let go, and feel like those, who hold, hands till life becomes grey and old.

So sing me a song, It doesn’t have to be long, let go because nothing that is said from the heart is wrong, in the end our hearts will go where they belong.

So sing a song for me and see if this is where we need to be,

Even though, you already know, what your hearts too afraid to show, what your heart feels, because its forreal, and sometimes you can’t deal, with the reality of what you conceal,

Because of the fears, of heartbreaks and tears.

Nivie Dhami