I remember the day Oscar Grant was murdered...
News casters surrounded my neighborhood,
Oakland's very own Fruitvale Bart had made the headlines.
Every morning I watched the 7:00 news,
My 7 year old brain So confused as to why the black man was being beaten by the White man
I was so young but I understood,
"Mr. Grant was not armed"
I understood,
"Grant did every thing he could to comply"
I understood,
"Please just let me go, I have a daughter"
I understood...
That his Black face was created to hate.
I understood,
That he was just another tale of the young black Man.
his story now told by his mother,
"He was a good boy"
"He ain't never did nothin' to nobody"
"He was taken away from his child, now she has to grow up without a father."
Now, his mother has to live on without a son.
Now,His sisters have to keep living without their brother.
Now, his girlfriend has to live with out the love of her life
Now, I cannot stand In Fruitvale Bart without thinking about the Black man who lost his life to the white mans Power trip...
Without looking at my black hands
Without getting on my black knees
And praying, "God please...
Lay your protecting hands on my brothers,
On my uncles,
On my grandfather,
On my father."
God please,
Let him comply when the white man pulls out his gun
when the white man says "get on your knees"
when the white man says "hands up or I'll shoot"
Let my black brother live,
God Please.