For this is an extraction of falsehood.
Overcoming the destruction in the neighborhood.
Riding along the path the true unification, navigating gentrification.
And so, my soul seeks the mastery of self
I wake early to read the books on my shelf:
From Walker’s Jubilee to Washington’s Up From Slavery
I search for answers in the pages of life.
I release the tension, endure the pain and scream out –
Rise you mighty people!
An affirmation, an invocation… for the ages.
When the war horn sounds, and the clouds disperse, the third eye will catch a glimpse of the moment to separate from conformity.
The spiritual being will emerge, ripe with hope and fate
Reaping the greatness from the seeds of our forefathers
Architects and witchdoctors, Imhoteps and Bannekars
All dwelling in my brain and chest
They show the way with written spells, and spear and crest.
Without the frowns, wrinkles and fear.
Mere destiny, to reap the reparation.
The payday is coming.
Listen for the whip crack, for it is a matter of timing.
Broken lessons from deep cuts.
Wounds fresh as sunflowers in the mud.
When does the change come?
Will you step up to the plate?
Will we master OUR fate?
There is an ancient spirit in abundance.
The magic. The message. So tragic.
Because I still must offer my soul, my body,
My bold stance and melodramatic dance.
A willing sacrifice, because
I dare to risk the body of my child in this madness.
YOU will no longer sit and stare, firmly planted in chairs., waiting for a revolution.
I say, rise you mighty people!
You will straighten your bent back and hold your head high.
As will your seed, together we take the oath and the creed.
To honor OUR ancestors on this day.
As we learn how to pray and allow no other to defer our dreams.
Or deter our scheme.
We shall meditate on the math and hold fast for a new destiny.