I exist

caught in a space where my ideas has no place
in this world where the greed of money
day by day is consuming our human race, Hm I exist
I exist in the presence of adolescene at five o'clock
in morn, while the sun is creeping, they're hustling
freestyling, hoping their skills will land them on a record
label. As they don't know they signing their souls
off to the devil.
I exist in the stills of the night when everyone else
is sleeping tight, My midnight oil burns dull.
Dull with candle lights. because mother the bread winner
has to suffer her needs as her hands bleeds in
the diamond mines of what we call ours,
Ruin by colonial powers,as they lay in their gluttunous riches
on east african beaches. I exist
I exist amongst mothers losing their children
to slums lords who prostitute their innocence
to european tourist. Where the only way out
lay in the hands of the serpant's mouth we call polititians.
I exist on the streets over hill tops where the rate of crime
surpasses the rate of thought where any one at the right price
can be bought.
I exist in the hearts of men whose one night
stand with that hooker around the corner leaves
his mind to wonder over the hiv rumour if his life is over.
I exist through the eyes who see their everyday lives
without water running and hope for a better life
fading
I exist the in the eyes of every freedom fighter ,
closed fist raiser whose fight lay through the souls
of Patrice Lumumba Che, Nelson Mandela
where do you exist?

Unfortunate life

As he races against time
He sees these signs
of society that coming to an end
as levels of injustices and poverty ascends
to heights where there can be
no turning back on this track
where rhymes spits at chopped up bars per second
of a 12 year old whose soul been written in heaven.
stitched in there before his time, before mine
while alive, body is rotting but he keeps on smiling,
his heart is barely beating but is will is too strong so he keeps on living
knowing that his mother is not there to protect him
and the father aint around because he lay in a unmarked coffin underground
so in this world that he must face alone
he pays for his father's sins that he brought to this home.
that took just a few moments of aggression with an erection
without any protection
he left this 12 year old while unknown world when unborn
the father's gift to him was to damned and cursed, all in one.
this has no poetic endings just a lifestyle in africa that
men believe in perpatuating,
So I wont be surprised when you go home your thoughts on this fades
because this 12 year old lives in africa born and dying with AIDS.

scrambled thoughts

I wanna be seen I wanna be heard
I wanna open these doors of truth to you
with my breath as I utter these words.
words that form sentences and sentences
that formulate a message that expresses
the boiling point of my Islamic brothers and sisters
who are trying to suppress this pent up rage.
as riots takes a stage in the heat of the night as these
immigrants are fed up and they ready to fight, ready
to brawl as they answer the call to end the best kept secret
France wants us to sleep with,
These issues that have hit the news about Africans
in France that are being racially abused,
socially neglected, allowing the poor to get poorer,
like you think a riot wasn't expected?
coup de tat lay on the doorstep of rich
the people have been socially, economically, lynched.
racially undermined, as we see these signs
as we live in these times,
in these times...............
in these times where hurricane Katrina revealed more than
just a bad page in the nation’s chapter, but rather
a social disaster
times where bootleg antiviral suppressants
make H.I.V. strains more resilient
times where unnecessary war on terror
take over the agenda when more and more
people are dying of hunger, worldwide
as the fabric of our human nature dies
we reside ourselves to what celebrities wear
yet they act like they do but they don’t really care
in these times where our minds are neglected as a weapon
we live in this world with no sense of direction.

what's beauty

You see them everyday, mid teens, early twenties and thirties,
walking around with a face tainted.....um I mean painted
powdered and covered, to hide a natural beauty
I wonder if this is self hatred.
Yet I may be wrong so let me not fault your ignorance
Bowing and conforming, submitting themselves to the greatest lie
That what they possess isn't beauty
So they spend their time painting......I mean tainting, erasing and eroding
Discoloring and dismantling their pride and their dignity, women of color
But let it not all fall on black women shoulders, we black men hold blame
Feeding them with false truths about their beauty, the superficial beauty
Allowing them to think that being black with black features is a shame.
Allowing them to believe these temporary features only define
Your inner creature that God who made you took his time
Hence what we've learnt over the years in these Eurocentric schools
Placing all forms our identity on the shelf like some fools.
the myelin in our pigment and the oils in our skin
in so many ways transcends the royal blood line
can't we see Royalty runs in your veins?
And the beauty you brothas describe could never be defined
Because of our colonial thinking, we've yet to free our mind.
The way and manner we brothas think of our black women
And what they suppose to be, I wonder if we haven't seen
That we are oppressors we shape the outlook of society.

First scriptures since

my first writings since time finally caught reality
since these times I've used my mind to adapt,
to survive in this metropolitan rain forest
where the name of the game is survival of the fittest
my emotions, my dignity, my peace of mind.
I've shape shifted and fused to the blues creating my ideology.
morphing thoughts of conspiracies of the birth of theologies,
rise in homophobic bigotry, a Blackman's place and his lost identity,
a black woman's place and her assimilated identity,a human being's place
and his quest for god's grace .

my first writings since thoughts of Katrina submerged into the thought
processes and scriptures of condemnation by the New Testament quoter,
mid west corn grower, red state occupier.
who explains this disaster was a result of God's Wrath and his anger
and that works of the flesh chaptered in the book of Galatians
explains lives displaced, families separated, as being another sign of the end times

my first writings since images of Islamic fundamentalists
being blamed for insurrections behind Paris' poverty lines.
ghettos riddled by lack of opportunity, saturated with
racial disparity and Africans immigrants slaving to make ends meet.
so I empathize with my brothers who turn to the east
but I don't sympathize.
Why?
Why should I?
Why should sympathize with the ones who believe
in the same books as the janjaweed in Sudan
who wage jihad over my nuba brothas and sistas.
who butcher men young and old, strip women and little girls
of their childhood, their innocence in midnight raids.
without any shame or fear of Allah's condemnation because they all
believe and scream Allah Akbar, God is great.
And Since my first writings my soul weeps but the heart
does not fritter.
Observe but don't let my eyes truly see
hear but don't let me listen
scream but don't let me shout
stand but never at attention.
my first scriptures since reality finally caught time.

My Blackness

My Blackness isn’t about
Yams n’ okras, coo-coo an’ callaloo.
It isn’t about
Cotton fields or cane fields
Or corn-rows or cane-rows
My Blackness isn’t!

My Blackness isn’t about
Repatriation or Redemption Songs,
Black Power or a Black Nation.
It isn’t about
Calling a child Kunta or Shaka
Or wearing mud-cloth or kinte colors.
My Blackness isn’t!

My Blackness isn’t about
Being separate, apart and distinct.
It isn’t about
Pigmentation, hair texture or body structure.
My Blackness isn’t!

My Blackness isn’t about
A dialect or slang.
It isn’t about rap, reggae or R&B.
My Blackness isn’t!

Cuz’ if I were dumb deaf and blind,
I’d still be Black.
N’ if I spoke no language known to men, sang like no music ever heard
I’d still be Black.
If I looked like no one you ever saw, wore clothes like no other man’s clothes, had no name and claimed no country as Mother,
I’d still be Black.
N’ if I never heard about corn, cane, yams or coo-coo
I know, you too would say I’d still be Black because



My Blackness IS about a legacy that lives IN me
It’d more than a way of life – It IS my life!
It IS about
Memory sooo long you never forget but a heart so big it chooses to forgive
It IS about
Backs bent but never broken, bowed by burdens but by nature so regally straight you’re bound to recognize the pride
It IS about
Eyes that see family in each and every human and arms that are never to weary to show love and give support

My Blackness IS about
Faith and hope for tomorrow thought you couldn’t even see your way yesterday
It IS about
Recognizing the pain in shame but realizing – No shame in enduring through the pain!

My Blackness IS about
Knowing how to have nothing but still giving from the nothing you have to those with even less
It IS about
Being first but being humble and honest enough to see good in many times being placed last

My Blackness IS about
That indelible, unmistakable imprint
It IS about
That indivisible, in exchangeable, indomitable connection to a mankind that realizes what
My Blackness IS!