If you are going to love a dreamer

You can not be controlling
You can not be manipulative

their spirit
their passion
would be sacrificed
because of their love for you
because of their love of you

it would be because of you
love ultimately fermented into resent and hate
dreams turned to nightmares at the very mention of your existence

You can not be weak
You can not be moveable

Their fire
their vision
would juggernaut the mightiest of the weary
tears shed in the quiet of the dark
desires whispered in the secret of shadows
would never be known to them

The dreamer is Blind
not deaf
not dumb

If you are going to love a dreamer

You must be courageous
You must be adventurous

To love a dreamer is to bed risk
To love a dreamer is to set a permanent place for gamble
the acknowledgement of chance
the acceptance of failure

Loving a dreamer is to know
the only place of honor
is not with them
is with the dream

Loving a dreamer is to know
the only pedestal
is not for them
is reserved for the dream

Loving a dreamer is to know
they will love you
position their lives around you
but their purpose
their only purpose
is the dream

© Christopher F. Brown 2015

I want to know more than one
Haitian

I want to know more than three
Jamaicans

I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo

Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese  

I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu

See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt

Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so

I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me

I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print

The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take

Isnt one that is new

Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim

Human

What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright

What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled

The First

There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins

That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization­

Revolution

I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them

That is the place
That is the space
That is

© Christopher F. Brown 2015

You scare the **** out of me
I know
I've said this before

So many things
about you

just like new

So many things
about you

just like old

There is enough mystery
about you
to where I am reminded of lifetimes
before you
Them's, We's, Us'
before you

There is enough mystery
about you
to where I can not foresee how this could end

but I know that is the lie I want to
I always try to
force into being truth

I haven’t learned not to like that yet.

The cards keep giving me
moons, chariots, and wheels of faith

I just want to see the lover

It could be that
I know it’s not
you

It could be that
I want it to be
you

so I'll just leave it up to
you

©Christopher F. Brown 2015

In this world
Weeds are worshiped as beautiful
Roses are cast to compost as a vulgarity

In this world
Worms matter the most
consuming roses
one of their favorite past times
one of their favorite foods

The greater the ****’s ability
to choke the rose
the greater the ****’s glory

In this world
Roses are hated
especially their thorns.


©Christopher F. Brown 2015

It's been awhile since I've liked anything
New

Pac died

One of the Krazies turned Christian
The sickest of the sickmade is laying in a hospital bed.
They made a movie about nwa
And it made hella money
made me laugh

I remember when they banned them from the radio.
I remember when I had to sneak and listen to my sister's tape
the technique of the immortal one remains strong

On a cloud I called grown
I meditated with my blackness
had relations with the blues
made love to R&B;
accepted Jazz as my personal musical savoir.

still

I never forgot
my first
love

I never fell out of love with
my first
love

yet

everything new
except a few
was just *******

then one day
high up
floating on that grown cloud
I got confused.
I knew what I saw but
I dint know they made sound
One day

I heard a butterfly


© Christopher F. Brown 2015

So I wrote a Notorious word to the Crook King
of Brooklyn who wrote the street book
Based on how the street he took
with feet quite fleet.
You know his spirit i did meet,
first last year on bicycle day
A tab of acid found its way
on my tongue it lay,
in the bathroom mirror I was prone to say,
"Biggie Smalls, Biggie Smalls, Biggie Smalls" and my heart did in fear fall,
Thought to myself
"I swear I hear a glock click near my left ear" so I got the hell out of there.
The second time was a bit more fair,
the air of a fellow player, yao slanger,
beat banger, he spat a 16 bar prayer
of how he was an unknowing player
In His plan a silent hand of hope
for all the ****** that are broke.
That the Sky is the limit,
only make moves when your heart's in it,
then you are guaranteed to win it.
Ain't no sin against it,
**** the world don't ask it for ****;
that's word to BIG