En- Jail -ed (Welcome Home Brutha...I Aint Seen You In A While...)

by B.T. Bonner

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   


passively contained   

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

and systematically

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!!!!" 

En- Jail -ed (Welcome Home Brutha...I Aint Seen You In A While...) by B.T. Bonner

© Copyright 2004. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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