by
black on black
rhymes
Part II:
The Desert of the Real
savage
like
hunters and gatherers
we been getting played for eons
silly peons
tricks r four kids
they pack chrome plated pistols
blow hollow tipped whistles
as the hot wind bristles and sizzles in the chocolate city
those witty and gritty turn shifty never see fifty
barely fifteen started chasin cream and dreams
bright lights big city blues and now they get used
as warnings to communicate
to sedate millions of feelins
raising children in sewers while the devils barbecue skewers and pops
burnin flesh never rests
failing life’s tests with flying colors
they combine to darken night skies
illuminated by the seductive moon
proving that there’s little room at the top
and even longer ways to drop
like bombs on innocents
or psalms on hypocrites
eye-witnesses to tragedy
now glad to be hunting and gathering lost souls at the crossroads
bought and sold like animals
now cannibals devouring their brotherly flesh
failing deaths tests with flyin colors
they combine to darken night skies
illuminated by the misleading moon
proving that there’s little room at the top
and the savagery will not stop
like rogue cops poppin shots at our defenseless women
blamed for original sinning
since the beginning of this war whose winnin
whose grinning
when this world stops spinnin and goes down the drain
the pain will not cease
we left peace when we left the garden
failin god’s tests with flyin colors
they combine to darken night skies
illuminated by the meaningless moon
proving that there’s little room at the top
and we ain’t learned nothing
in all this time
down south
stardust sprinkles us
as we lay beneath his glow
in farmer smith’s meadow
crickets sing their songs of slumber slow
sinking—
in the absence of light
swallowed
by her lovely eyes
captured—
like those autumn fireflies
she never let me catch
lost and found in this small town
the only negro in the batch
as i smile
she frowns
bringing my good mood down
i long to touch her hair of deepest ebony
to feel those kinking strands move through my hands
instead i choose to fan
mosquitoes from her furrowed brow
wondering how i can get her to stay
a little longer with me this day
so i play a little tune
on granddad’s harmonica about the moon
june was when i first
swooned
from seeing her blossoms—
in full bloom one look and i was
doomed
to a life of dual captivity
trapped—
between tragedy and rhapsody
humbled
by her humanity
when she touches me
my bondage is erased
she makes me feel safe
i ignore the skin that was chaffed
my screaming scars
my hate
even the barking dogs that await
because to find her is to know
that love exists even in sorrow
for i finally saw tomorrow
beyond the walls of woe
in the eyes of jim crow
já fui asaltado (i’ve already been robbed)
african-brazilians were the last slaves from africa to be granted freedom almost twenty years after the emancipation proclamation.
eu já fui asaltado por o diabo que está me matando devagar
não posso chegar ao seu ceu americano
porque terra é inferno pra o negro brasileiro.
i’ve been watching you brother
seen you walking my streets in the white man’s uniform
my currency burns holes in your pockets as you wear a smoky smile on your face
sin is in your heart
yes, i call you brother, but you are only my brother because of our shared skin color
that’s all we’ve ever shared
our symbolic mother spits on me whenever we’re in the same room
yes we came from the same womb
you were freed first and i was left with the scraps
you were relaxing your afro
and i was still picking out sugar cane and cotton knaps
you never offered me a hand
i suffered to eat through rotting teeth
you scolded me about freedom of speech, freedom of religion and freedom of choice
i asked you to explain
you drove by me in a gold rolls royce
drinking milk and honey
laughing all the way to the bank
i didn’t understand what was so funny until i saw you just now
my family kills itself to eat off of $65 per month
you just spent that on your lunch break
you make my whole life savings on a bi-weekly basis
i’ve heard that it’s impossible for the oppressed to be racist
i see how you look at me with disgust
you complain that your fate and future is discussed in corporate board rooms
as they plan your demise
but at least you’re on their minds
but all that’s on your mind are my women that leave you hot and bothered
you leave them barefoot, bothered, and burdened with baby’s
they search for baby fathers that only come to call during carnival
you rape their minds with razor wire dreams
that they might escape my cruel fate and leave as your mate
they return that hate to me
they patiently wait for you to come back, come back, come back
the line between right and wrong is slanted in your favor
i want to even the score for every person that’s ever been sick, tired, and poor
you americans say, when opportunity knocks on the door...
in my case it’s a tattered screen
that opens up into a one room mud house full of hope fiends
foolishly chasing your american dream
i would gladly sell my soul for just one percent of the opportunity that you take for granted
you smoke fat sacks of green and spend fat stacks of green
my black and blue people are dying
my impoverished babies are crying
my world bank reliant politicians are lying...just like you
on some beach in rio de janeiro your brown skin burns slow
you now know why i planned this crime
i was inspired by tv
shows like the fresh prince and cosby showed me a reality i’d never see
unless i took it
like how the thief took carlton’s cash at the atm
i can relate to him
like the europeans that divided and conquered us in the first place
you’re no different from them
like all of you that take and take and take and take
take these bullets with you to hell and see how much you can get for your soul on resale
br />
though your skin is dark your spirit is pale
i told you at the beginning of this tale
i’ve already been robbed
by a devil that’s killing me slowly
i’ll never arrive in your american heaven because earth is hell for a black brazilian
every night in the news you see how we kill men
you see how we kidnap them and take them into the mountains
ponce de leon searched for youth fountains but my holy grail is in your pockets
in your cow skin wallet i will find my salvation
sandwiched between your credit cards and library card is my green card
because freedom however temporary tastes just as sweet
we finally meet face to face on this breezy evening
to talk about evening the odds a bit
i’ll bet my life that now you’ll remember me, and this cold steel pressed against your head
see i’m you’re worst nightmare because i show you how things could end up
if that majority in your country
abruptly called martial law and sent your ass back to the plantation
you would see how my life is every day in this nation
i’ve already been robbed so there’s nothing left for you to take
so now you can finally give
give me a sample of the lifestyle that’s so good you smile amidst a sea of frowns
give me a chance to climb up that social ladder
so i too can look down on the helpless, hopeless and homeless
don’t look around for help, focus on this moment and don’t move
eu já fui asaltado
i’ve got nothing left to lose
the day after
thousands of lives just cut short
some sort of diplomatic blood sport
global tag
body bags
missing moms and dads
media playing faces of those sad
intermixed celebrations of those glad
its all come to this
not capitalist, communist, or socialist
just pissed
targets they hit
many more will be missed
the point of all this can’t be dismissed
as an act of war or simply bad karma
making orphaned babies wake up this morning to soldiers and no mamas
sirens and cell phone sounds intermixing with prayers of the world`s people
hoping god is still listening
interfering with the wicked words of war
the devil is whispering
the devil is whispering
violence begets violence but no solutions
government only wants to cause more confusion
using and taking, bullying and faking
trying to act tough but their knees are shaking
breaking news
an unseen enemy
shattered silence
now it is time for all to pray for god`s grace and guidance
be humbled to his will, but still remain strong
9-11-01
a date terribly surreal
humanity must come together and heal
open the lines of communication
stop the hating
debating on which button to push
call, write, or e-mail george w. bush
in a push for peace from west to east
keep rallying until violence is ceased
silence the beast of terror
broken home
this country is built
upon broken backs
of native americans, chinese, and of course blacks
when john smith and his cronies took shore leave
blacks toiled on knees for centuries
digging deep to find roots long lost in other lands
like a remote control
african souls muted
until finally accepting white doctrines and dogma
using the bible as a shield deflecting guilt
when the last drops of pure african blood spilled into the land
they felt no remorse
forcing blacks to work against their will
forcing black women into indigo corners
dark mourners singing hymns
about him and his people the embodiment of evil
white devil they called him
cursing blue-eyed bundles of scorn
free born
a land of opportunity at their feet
bowing heads in defeat
planning a resurrection underneath overconfident eyes
strategizing creating the underground railroad
using the moon as a guide
becoming run-a-ways turning pages of his-tory black
escaping across the mason-dixon
unfortunately it was flight in the wrong direction
white clouds know no boundaries
birds once caged find freedom in the city exploring the joy of being free
yet the reign continues on parades of freedom demonstrators
thinking that sooner or later their resolve will drown
they are right
floodgates of hatred the only reality
pouring over this country
built upon broken backs of native americans, chinese and of course blacks
where four little girls pleas for help
completely ignored
by wanna-be ghosts pouring kerosene all over so-called american dreams
now hear them sing
about god blessing the child that’s got his own
what about owned children
locked in mental cages
who will save them from themselves
constantly dwelling on the past
never moving forward
from the four scoring of four hundred years ago
the african holocausting more than one million lives
what’s to become of those that survived this tragedy
well every year
masses come from broken homes
multitudes die alone
all raised
in a broken home
by abusive american founding fathers
never writing them into the will when they died
now look
direct your attention to the systems bastard children
playing victim at 400 years of age
displaced rage all they feel
forcefed inherited shit
yet responsible for the bill
maybe that’s why they never leave tips
feeling the remnants of whips
long decayed
delaying leaving home too long
can’t go back to their mother…africa
perceived as a sad slut
she’s got her own problems to solve
they’ve got to resolve
to mend what’s been broken
instead of being humpty-dumpty’s
in a country waiting for all the kings men
to put them back together again
it’ll never happen
because these are the same men
that divided and conquered them in the first place
these are the same men
that made race an issue but now get offended when the subject is brought up
raised in this broken home
watched over
by that pimping pedophile uncle sam and his #1 money maker lady liberty
know wonder their racial psychology is so fucked up
know wonder their cultural identity is so fucked up
know wonder they’ve been stuck up shit’s creek without a paddle so long
how do they get right as a people
after done so wrong time and time again
what good is a revolution against yourself
what good is chasing wealth and the good life
when you can’t sleep at night because of the stinging scars tattooed your soul
we have never been the people for whom that cracked liberty bell tolls
but we have paid them all
now choosing to idolize and emulate
some may never get pass his-tory
until old and gray
going on dead and gone
some bonds are impossible to break
mistakes
never forgiven
you can’t choose your parents
we are bound to one another
under the same roof that leaks more every year
from every tear falling on this broken home…america
land of inequity
home of the slave
the truth
we’ve been labeled
as slackers and punk pistol packers
but we’re really just poor bastards
trying to keep up with time
blind not only in sight but in mind
about the truth
behind enemy lines we find our youth
slanging dope on street corners
as street mourners shrouded in all black
pack hearses with the cursed children
even tall buildings appear to sway in the background
from the weight
of the truth
six feet underground
there are whole cities of those with no pity
their hungry red eyes peer out of sewers
looking for something newer to prey upon
while up on the roof there are shootouts at high noon
like the ok coral
now is the final confrontation but we facing
an enemy too strong to fight with guns and knives
someday we all gotta die say steel touting street soldiers
unsheathing nine milli’s that spill bullet shells
like milk but only mothers cry
so many tears as years assault their cracking faces
eventually all races will end
with the truth
will we ever begin to pray for a better day
will the kingdom come
announced by drums and trumpeting
something’s gotta give hope
to the people struggling to defeat evil
because evil is just live spelled backwards
we must let our words back our deeds
as our seeds wait for a taste
of the light of truth
we facing long days and even longer nights
full of more frights than human sight can bare
stare in the mirror and answers will come
from the one hiding
inside the truth
for what lies beneath the epidermal sheets
are dead sea scrolls
knowledge of hieroglyphic scriptures
pictures of the birth of man in the hand of god
sand granules from the first pyramids
constructed by the id ego and superego
but kryptonite is useless
against those blessed
with the truth
sometimes
some time is all that’s kneaded
like dough rising into bread