Long Black african amerme Poems
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Somehow I feel connected to each lock
They remind me of a time before me when black was not just hip hop
They remind me of a movement towards freedom
When we were gaining the momentumm to no longer be oppressed
To me they represent bold, natural blackness
Symbols of non-conformity and to some
a sign of spiritual royalty
From ancient egyptians
to the movement of the rastafari
The lion of Judah remains represented entirely upon the heads of those
who rebel against enslavement
In modern times and during the times of
John the Baptist, King Tut, Solomon and Samson
Connected deeply to the Rastafarian and the struggle of the block
Guerilla warriors swore not to cut the locks
until the release of their authority
Jah-Rastafari or Haile Selassie I
Big ups to the dreads with conscious minds
The intertwined knots remind me of naturally grown crops of herbs
Each lock a spliff of some FIYA YA
to help calm my nerves
Burning the corruption and the lies told about the words written
While filtering out the bullcrap I found truth in transmission
Giving it to you is my soul mission
Locks. Beautiful like the afro
Symbolizing freedom from strong holds
Still black and proud though
I love locks
They remind me of pure blackness
This Body
Those on the bottom can see but can’t act,
Those on the top can act, but can’t see,
O Lord, please free me from this body of Death, America.
Dear Lord, How am I to stay composed, as the very fabric of justice decomposes from
beneath me?
My footsteps are weighted down by the sounds of my ancestors screaming for my freedom, as
they realized that their deliverance was only in the life to come?
Am I to wait until the life to come?
Like some passive animal, always turning by backside to be flogged by the excruciating
hypocrisy of white supremacy,
You ask me to hold to your precepts, you ask me to hold to your law of love,
And yet for me it is like Atlas, bearing the weight of my oppressor’s ignorance, all the
while attempting to free them from their codependency on my subjugation,
Even for those who see, their loss is still their gain, Privilege,
But for me, loss is the sound of riotous rage burning the streets of Chicago,
And yet my Lord,
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things unseen,
I must believe, even as my circumstances bludgeon me from the inside out,
I must believe that you have a plan.
We need not loans, but a redefinition of what it means to prosper?
Can you grant us at least this my lord?
A vision of repentance in which top and bottom begin to fade away beneath the sound of
righteous equality?
If we can just touch the hem of your garment?
If we can just touch the hem of your garment, then we shall be healed.
And this body will know the sublime language of harmony.
Lord God, do not free me from this body of death, America.
For in my freedom, my brethren will still suffer.
Rather, free this body from its insanity.
So that we all may sleep and dream soundly.
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