He beat her down senseless and without pause
another Revolution without a cause
brotha man let his fists speak for what his heart couldn't believe
and found excuses to erase the lies that his mind couldn't conceive
now his hell has just begun
listening to brothas speak ebonics with regretful tougues
and fear dripping from their mouths
like slaves being corralled on the bows of slave ships
with angry words that part their lips
so they try their hardest to be hard risking their lives
in a land where only the strongest of the strong survive
but broken are their spirits
that mentally collapse when
reality treats them colder than they feel it should
still the Earth chimes
and nothing he feels
but angry as the wind that blows through an Atlantic sail
as light enters through a small hole
and touches his face
makes love to his soul
for the first time in 5 years
and yet he still fears his tears
as nature whispers to him in low tone
he whispers back a plea for simple treasures
erotic pleasures turned topside
passing through his heart as if it weren't there
until finally back at him death stares
but he cannot look upon it ...
because the world is lost to him
a world of imperfect halves
and hearts broken with lies
so harder again he tries
and nothing he still feels inside
so hardest he tried not to get hard in the shower
on nights when a face is a face
and a beating pulse is better than another dose of lonely
and our black men are left to stimulate each others prostate
behind cell bars
the same way brothas want sex from sisters in the back seats of cars
which wages another battle
for his mind that society already claimed as chattel
stripped of knowledge of self so that they dont care
connected only by a bigger crime of blackness
that we all must share
thinking about their lives
screaming that it is unfair
cause you didn't even ask to be brought here
animalistically crawling at the feet of white massas
of criminal just-US
subjects subject only to night sticks lovers
and other stiff d!ck brothas
that call themselves muthafuckas
so passionately they treat their cell lovers
better than they treated their sistafriends, girlfriends, and mothers
still they forgive and regret
hoping for stolen moments of happiness during a one hour visit
from loved ones, usually mothers, and maybe a glimpse of their kids
so they go home and pray themselves to sleep like Winnie Mandela did
its a cycle cruel
vicious and poisonous like pythons
with teeth bared
and money spared to house and feed you
when they really want bullet holes to impede you
we need to stop drop and roll out of this madness
thats burning screaming spirits of misery
can you hear them laughing in the face of our history?
cause criminalistically we cant hold a torch to 400 years of this humility
but lets check in again tomorrow....... because we
"Welcome Home Brotha...I aint seen you in a while! What you been up too?"
"Nuthin much nigga, just dying in the streets. In and out of jail.
You know...same ole'... same ole'."
"Oh yeah, I heard about that man. How is that going for you?"
"Not so good man. I think I might need to try harder.
Shitttt, I might even have to kill a nigga or two."
"That might work man. You should have been here yesterday,
niggas was dying on this street like a muthafucka."
"Oh hell naw man, niggas on this street aint dyin, they just going to jail."
"I'm tired of that shit, I need to die as quick as I can."
"You know what niggas, I been waiting for you to get out man."
"Why you been waitin on me my nigga?"
"Cause you my nigga..........."
"So long my Nigga!!!!"