Home to Once Africa’s queens and kings’
Sparrows thrown as children roam through forests
and hunting with their elders, the respected heroes;
Keep you in their prayers as you lose the struggle
against growth and freedom
Of speech and mind, Mind-less actions, no positive reactions
in our people, as we deteriorate like soul-less bodies
lying on their soil.
Land of missed ancestries and hypocrisies, never to tell you that
We are the world, we are the future
We are the history, with your present being a present
Make your presence known.
And while American’ts sit and watch us bounce that basketball
Run across that field, Rap about swag
Money being the motivation;
You hold back your transformation of abundance
Your skill is hidden behind layers and layers
of skin and muscle, seeped deep into your tissue matter and harboring
in your bones.
And that woman by your side, should be colored like the queens that are home
within the soft brown sands and exotic animal enclosures
Yet replaced by fundamental societal barbies with plastic aspirations
to fulfill your mental ambivalence.
Black, American. Keep your head high,
the head of a hunter
As our bloodline of kings runs freely in a Country walks of land away.
A short spoken word poem.