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Why?

WHY  do we blacks laugh at each other 
whenever we get the chance?
We talk about one another,
When the other one tries to advance.

WHY do we fear when someone is different, 
but the same color as you and I.
Do you, as being blacks, read of our past existence?
If you did, I think you would cry.

WHY  do we dress GQ,
put our jerri curls on?
 We who came to America without shoes.
Now we value materials so strong.

WHY do we hold back and pull back, 
paint our friends to build ourselves?
Until we, be exact, we’ll never accept the fact
that we're no lower than anyone else.

WHY are we afraid of what we are,
but try our best to be the spot of thrills?
Look around you, 
feel the pride of being black.
It’s not far through this mortal deck we’re dealt.
WHY are we sitting here 
reflecting on past memories?
Because one day we were only gathered,
to pick cotton, boy, sing those songs,
to find rest under the shade trees.

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