I live in the spirit
        of the Masters before me.
Harlem's finest
        a social and artistic Renaissance
Prophets, poets and preachers
        capturing moments for change

I read the words
        I, Too, Dreams, Caged Bird
Where I once had tears
        now all I have is rage
I write death songs
        and hate has sunken in

America still isn't America for me.
America still lives in denial
America still silences
America still kills

I want to be free
I want to be free

To look upon my brothers
To look upon my sisters
Black, white or other
Rich, poor or other
Gay, straight or other
I'm indifferent, I only sing for love

So what should I do, this
is Not My America
America does not love me
My heart is heavy
but nothing will change.

you said
if they didn’t like the color of your skin
the color that white people
burn for on a beach
the color braided
by the moon and the night
the color where
gardens make their home
the color eyes see
when shut for a dream
you said that
and yet they do not know what they do
even as they try
to wear the color the same as you

i could walk the way across the wire
and tell you I understand
but we both know I really don't, so
i will instead be myself;
there is no greater feat for a human
than to overcome himself
to tell his own kind they are wrong
and not pretend he is good;
the fear of heights is the fear of truth;
to say you cannot look down
but that you will watch while they do,
does not comfort them;
what is right except to be human,
to treat you the same
if you are wrong or if you are right;
the words I choose
will be the ones i speak to a man;
no tears no pity,
only the words that my soul believes,
so you know what I know
that my feet are too small for my shoes,
the ones God gave me;
and how many pairs must I try today
until i can wear yours;
can I instead never be a loud goodbye
and speak only soft hellos
can i instead never pretend to know,
except that i do my friend;
i do even though my dreams do not,
life for them goes on;
the tears that flood my nights are truth;
i know they are only for me
for that is the reality of the oppression
and of the protest;
they know you have too much to lose
until you no longer do,
but will your children understand why
cost is greater than comfort,
that childhood is still a dream away;
but they will soon know
that those who came before them
gave them more than life;
they gave them a cross of deliverance
for heaven is still the same

From The Streets

We once feared the survival of civilization
Now it is the survival of culture
The assurance of mutual destruction
Madness
A godless government
Wary of one in him do they trust
The posture of destruction
To agree on a way not to strike first
And to believe in the rational man
The desire to live
The belief in the future of their people

On earth

Order them in
That is the order
That is what must be done
But can it be done
Who can do it
Someone must advise
Someone must decide
The gulf separating advice and decision
Is the gulf separating man from heaven
God or no God
It is mankind who must order them in
And it is mankind that must die

Man killed God
God is eternal
Man invented God
God is incorporeal

The voice of our adversary is subdued
Almost sad
It is so that he wants to live too
He is not a mad man
Only living as all men live
Within the desire to care for their  world
A home
A neighborhood
A town
A city
A state
A nation
It is all the same if all is at risk

But it is no longer at risk

The fatalism of heaven controls our minds
But it is not more powerful than human weakness
And the need to be loved by God is our  weakness
We must prove ourselves worthy
And it is our precise belief that is most holy
Not because God told us
But because we believe it
And if we are wrong
Then we are nothing
Not us
Or our people

It is now man versus man
Our God versus their God
Our culture versus their culture
Our law versus their past
It is our history that we sustain
We walk its streets
And remember the words of our parents
The must mean something
How can they not
We are their blood
The blood of our nature
The blood of our God
OUR GOD
The one to which we pray
The one who gives us strength
The one who tells us we are worthy
Yes
We will be saved
For we are saving him
Saving him from lies
Saving ourselves from our lies
For it was written by us
And we must believe those who died for them

And those who died at the hand of them
For everyone who died

Just to cross a bridge
Or to believe as they want

It is personal now
We have allowed life to become greater than we are
Now we are taking it back
Vengeance is ours
To each of us is the power to accuse
The power to ****
The power to teach our children

What will we say first?

the grandfather of slavery
wage labor
is an abusive relationship
domestic demise of humanism
I cannot tolerate or stand my light skin
I want to lay in the blazing sun
until I am burnt beyond recognition
a raging fire that catches anyone near
I cannot stand that white people
think I fit in
just to end up realizing I do not
I want to fight my way out
with language and brute force
until whiteness realizes
clearly
in a broken impotent rage
that it does not fit in
not in the world of the future
not in the world of ethnicities
having passionate ***
as its desperation of indulgence
greed
guilt
and brutality fade back to evolution
sustainability throws it aside
I am the medium
the vessel
the glory
of nature

If something is not there in it’s place of which something was thought prior,
definitely there must be something new in it's place.
As it happens in life so does in race,
Day is followed by night,
night followed by day and again by night.
Similarly also in race
Most of the times it’s the old that replaces the new and makes it’s presence felt
Definitely champions aren't born, they are made.

Do you mean the ones who live on the other side?
Clear across the ocean, two miles in from the tide?

The ones that live with little means or the ones that live like we were meant to?
That work, play, stress, fear, and cry, just like we do?

The men who were created from the earth and the women from Adam's rib?
The ones who fall asleep staring at the same galaxies wondering if we're all there is?

Do you mean the ones in straw houses near dirt roads?
That learn how to survive on the land and wear the clothes that they sew?

Others and me,
I'm sorry, pardon me... I'm just slightly confused
Because when I think of them, I think of me
I can't separate the two.