Non-fiction / THA NAKED SOUL OF A STRONG BLACKMAN PT1
Who am I? I am a 43 year young Amerfrican {African/American} who was a damn good athlete and seasoned street hustler. A damn good athlete because that was the only avenue for me to release extra energy and pent up frustrations about things in a black teenager’s everyday life. Seasoned street hustler because that is what majority of the men in my family did. Moreover, I being the last male child, I was automatically exposed to the street’s way of life. I was always sneaking out of my window going to the ghetto nightlife area called ‘the yard’ (Henry Street) to just watch and hang around. I never really got bothered do to the fact that most of my cousins were hard street fighters and their rep of beating a Negro down was know, so people didn’t hassle me. In fact, I received many minor hustling gigs just so they could say to one of my cousins they looked out for me. However, I quickly learned every hustle or con to the point that I started hustling just to hustle for practice. The first quick lesson I learned was the ‘code’ of the street. The real code, from back in the day, which kept street life real, plus kept all hustlers on the same level of respect for each other. It protected the innocent and enforced the code’s rules of street life ‘in house’ meaning amongst our own; no judge, no jury, no Poe Poe {police}.
Second, I used sports for an avenue out into the world. Basketball, baseball, and my favorite one football were and still is my tang. Man; the attention, the notoriety was something to pride for. I knew one of those was my ticket out of inner-city poverty into so that I could achieve more then the rest of the men in my family. Do not get me wrong, I love, respect, admire, and look up to the men in my family. They are as good as any other Blackman in America and one of them is my hero, my father. He was a man who had as he told it “a six grade education” but he was wise and knowledgeable in the ways of life that were vital for your mind. He possessed a mind for good strong ideas that he would put together and make strive for a little bit. It was not his fault that he could never get the backing to keep one afloat for more then a couple of years. The “people “who invest in America and its crazy dream just kept up the proverbial ‘red tape’ until he would get tired and give up. Watching his trials and tribulations, his joyful and happy times, as well as his hard and sad times; instilled in me that education and knowledge are the keys to a “comfortable life” in this world. Therefore, I knew I had to get the mental tools to be all that I could be in life and help him realize some of his dreams too. Like every black child in life or any child period, I just wanted my parents and family to be proud of me.
When a Blackman child turns 21, there is an extremely large sense of manhood, but it does not consciously contain excepting responsibilities neither for our actions nor for our reactions in life. However, if you look at it, a majority of men, at 21, do misconstrue the perception of manhood. I had two sets of knowledge to fall back on; one was what “not so dear Uncle Sam” taught me; to be all that someone else wanted me to be and the second was my knowledge of street hustling. The first would have me starting out at a manual labor job at low minimum wage and working forty years to get middle minimum wage; while the other would have me hustling for the money I desired but would eventually put me in a grave or prison. Weighing the odds of how to best-put food on my table, clothes on my family’s’ back and good money in our pockets lead me down the road I knew was wrong.
My false sense of manhood sent me to the road of little work and high dividends. Now, my ordinary ugly butt thought that I; at 21, with a beautiful, sexy, pregnant wife, a son in my spitting image and hustling street fame was 1.I was God’s gift to women, 2. I was The El Negro who ruled the valley of the dead wearing gasoline fruit-of the – looms, and 3. I knew that I was all that and a truckload of chips. Well you probably guest by now that sooner rather then later caught up with me, I was not dead but I wished that I were because I was sent to prison. In Dec. ’85, one month and ten days after my wife had delivered us a precious, healthy baby girl, I was arrested for a string of robberies that of course by the code of the ghetto I pleaded innocent to. In addition, of course by the code of law I received a fast and speedy trial that had me judged by twelve peers that were not mine.
Out of a possible 225-year sentence, I thank God that I only received 25 years and ten days. The ten came from venting my rage at the machine called justice. Of those 25 years, I served 13 years, 2 months and 21 days, or 676 weeks, or 4,826 days, or 115,824 hours, or 6,949,440 minutes, or 416,966,400 seconds; for whomsoever wants a precise count to it.
When I entered prison, I was deaf, dumb, and blind. Deaf because I had not yet realized true knowledge of life and self that was taught to me by my grandmother, my parents, and other elders of my family; Dumb because I believed like most young men that I knew everything in life their was to know and I was always right; and blind because I was so full of the smell of my own cum that I could not see my potential in life. I was just plain old fool ignorant to who I was, what I was, where I came from and where I was going. I did not know my past, while my present had just been decided for me, and I had no hell of an idea of my future to come.
Public Enemy, the rap group, rapped, “It takes a nation of millions to hold us back”, but in my case, as in the cases of a whole lot of our young men and women, it took a nation of millions plus one to hold me back. That one fool was me. I was ignorant enough not to study my own heritage and history, ignorant enough not to learn from my mistakes as well as the mistakes of others in my family. I was ignorant enough not to ask for help from my community, church, or family do to a false sense of manhood and pride. However, I was really, really so plain old fool ignorant enough not to know myself [feared my inner self], and I was excessively ignorant not to truly believe in God.
Entering exile, at first, only enraged me, made me strike out and hurt those in exile with me. However, a couple years later, I received a wake up call that started me on a mental journey through the corridors of my mind. In ’88, after spending a year in solitary confinement for flexing my rage on some guards during a riot, I returned to the main population. Believe me I was looking like a crazy man because I had shaven half my head bald with my facial hair on that side trimmed in a neat goatee and the other side of my head was in an afro of twisted dreads with the facial hair in an unruly beard. Now to be honest I was not trying to appear insane it just so happen that I was in the middle of deciding which one suited me best. You see, I was not in any hurry to decide because after axing through my 366 day on a calendar, I figured I had time to decide.
In between my decision, I was told, through the meal slot of my 9 by 12 cell that I was to pack my meager belongings because I was returning to the main population. You must understand that after a year of solitude of talking to my self and going stir crazy, I didn’t bat an eye at my appearance nor really cared because my black ass was going to be released to the population of 3,000 other convicts to which I could talk with, play basketball with, and watch that one-eyed monster [TV] with. Yeah, my black ass was being freed, well as free as the razor topped, electric fences would let me be. Between you and me, I had not gone crazy; I just plainly forgot. In my overwhelming desire to get out of lockdown, I hadn’t decide which look suited me but of course you know I didn’t tell anyone cause lets face it if the guards and convicts thought I was crazy like I looked then they would leave me the hell alone. (Oh, by the way, I finally did decide on the baldhead and neatly trimmed goatee side)
Prison is just like the streets only prisons’ streets are the recreation yard, library, trade and vocational school, gym, hallways, and cells. Prisons’ streets contain educational opportunities, non-minimum wage jobs, and every vice that the real streets do and if they cannot get the real thing, you can better bet somebody will come up with a substitute. Just like God works in mysterious ways out in the streets so He does in the streets of prison. Case in point, during my stay in isolation, I got down to the core of my soul in order for me to start rebuilding me. I believe the core of every soul is belief; Belief in God and belief in your self. Therefore, by the time I was returned to population, I was in a mind set to seek knowledge of every religion. I grew up in a Baptist household so I knew a good portion of the bible but I needed to find out for my soul the core messages that God handed down to the different races of beings. Yeah, it seems like that would take about a decade don’t it. However, hey, that was no problem because I had twice that and a nickel more.
I am going to apologize now to whom ever is reading. I sometimes may drift over into my pool of being and sip a cup of the tears of my soul. It is my strengths’ reservoir for when my mind or body becomes tired and weary or my inner voice becomes parched from talking or shouting too much.
So where was I? Okay, I was telling you of my re-entry into population. Well, a returning citizen to the projects of prison usually goes back to the same block of housing he was locked down from. To inform the innocent, a ‘block of housing’ is two three to five storied buildings grouped together with one central recreation yard; holding just a mere couple thousand souls for punishment. Anyway, I entered the housing unit of cells [pods] and looked around for my assigned cell. One thing about survival in there is that you have to be observant. You have to read and recognize every one of the people around you in order to swim through the different degrees of mentality in there. The convicts’ population, as well as the guards’ population, is constantly revolving door of faces and attitudes. My abode was a room barely big enough for one man but was expanded into a two-man cell. I call these cells ‘the duplexes of humanity’ because you are subject to be celled with any level of humanity of man. By the will of God, my cellmate was a brother named Yusif. Yusif was a brother who was still standing proud, strong, and intelligent after serving fifteen years of confinement. Yusif just so happened to be the Imam (leader) of the Sunni Muslim community, plus an excellent legal aide at the law library. No matter what you do in the system, it is just like the streets; everybody knows who you are and what your reputation is. Yusif asked me, on my third day out of lockdown,
Whether I believe in Allah (God) and at that moment, I could not say yes or no. You see, at seventeen, I was baptized but after my incarceration, I really doubted my belief in God. Why? Because how could He take me away from the people I love and from my children. How could He let me be here for making one mistake in life when there was countless of others out in the world that was doing more vile and despicable things to other human beings when I was only trying to feed my family. I had developed a FTW (fuck the world) attitude by being incarceration. What had God giving me when I had been bending my knees to Him every night crying and begging Him to help me? To let me know somehow, someway, that He heard, cared, and loved me. I needed to know what possible thing that I had done so terrible in His eyes that I could not be a father to my precious children and be a loving husband to my wife. Why must I have to violently defend my life everyday and dig my hole in exile deeper and deeper to where I might not ever be reunited back with my family? Why me? Why me? Why me? Those two words constantly swirling through my mind made me doubt God. He promised me that if I turned my life over to Him that I would be rewarded in life so if this was my reward in life then He misleads me because so far all I could see feel, and live was a punishment. Yeah, I could have been sentence the whole 225yrs but if He cared, He would have let the “man” give me an insignificant punishment for it being my first time in trouble with the law. Therefore, by posing that one question to me, Yusif unknowingly triggered an inner rage of deep down frustration that would send me out on the recreation yard, not to ponder but to explode on any guard who just happened to rub me the wrong way and of course, there was one. I let it all hang out to its fullest, I am not proud of it; it just had to come out. I was unceremoniously escorted back to my cell, with a few knots of my own, in
Handcuffs, to watch my security entourage packs my stuff and unceremoniously put me in isolation. In a sense, the will of God comes when He feels it is time to and not when you want Him to. After three months on lockdown, He showed up. I have always enjoyed reading but my supply ran empty. I had read all that was available and a lot that was borrowed. So I sent out a telephone (A bundle of string tied from tip to tip and slung through the tray slot of a cell) line to another cell. My line ran to Chicago’s cell a fellow inmate I became acquainted with. My note was for him to send me something to read and he helped me out with a book that I truly did not expect. I reeled my line back in and to my utmost surprise it was the Holy Quran. I let it sit on my desk for a least two or three days before I even cracked open the cover.
That internal voice that we all hear in ourselves, kept telling me that this book was my way to enlightenment, my way out of the confusion of self. There is nothing like the freedom of self and until I opened the Quran, l did not know what freedom of self was.
That was not my first time encountering any form of religion. I was baptized in ‘82 and I was brought up going to church every Sunday. I was baptized then because I believed in God; but you can believe in Him and yet do not believe in yourself. I know people feel what I am saying in that regard because that is part of being human and growing up. Now, before I finish the first ten verses of the Quran, I knew and felt that this was God’s message to me. So many questions of doubt and confusion were answered by the eleventh verses that I began to cry tears of joy very time I read, I felt immense joy from feeling that weights or chains were being taken away from around my mind, my soul. I started to feel like a bird that has been pushed out of the nest for the first time and learns to fly before it hits the ground. Everything from sight to hearing to every sense I had, became sharper, and became more acute. You see, God knew I believed in Him but it was up to me to believe in the God within me. After I started to believe in me, He began to guide me to believe in his part in me and myself. This is how I perceived His message to me: Even though I had a belief in Him, I did not have a belief in myself so therefore I really could not believe in him with my total being. Why couldn’t I totally believe in Him? Because even though He breathed life into me, I did not believe in myself, I truly did not believe in Him. How could I? He was apart of my soul and being but yet I could not believe in that part that in essence was Him.
After a couple of weeks, I was returned back into population. Not surprisingly, I was placed back in Yusif’s room. At first, it shook me a little because when you come out of isolation, you are put in another housing building from the one you were taken from. This only re-enforced my feeling that I was headed in the right direction for myself. As I unpacked, I observed the things in the cell. You see, my first time in the cell, I noticed Yusif had an array of material stacked from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. There was only room enough for you to move from cell door to the double bunks and the toilet/sink combination. There were papers in every place that was available. When he returned to the room, he just nodded at me in greeting and sat down. I did not know how to address him because this was the person who asked me the question that sent me on a whirlwind of inner analysis. He finally spoke to me and as we talked, it seemed that I had known him for a very long time. I finally broached the subject of Islam, but he directed the subject to religion in whole.
He told me that he was glad I had found Islam, but before I truly embraced it, I should study the whole spectrum of religion. Then he started telling me about the material that was all over the room. Every message that God has sent to man was what he had in the cell. Either I could accept Islam blindly or I could study religion and except the one that made me a better human being. I thought about this for a few days, but what made me decide was the fact that brothers from different religions on the compound, Yusif, the Imam of the Sunni community, got mad respect from every different religious people seeking knowledge about their chosen course of belief in God. I started reading every thread of material that I could. I studied Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Nation of Islam, Five Per centers, and other religions that I had never even heard of nor thought existed. I started studying to free my mind as well as my soul.
I freed my mind and my ass followed. It is somewhat funny, because the more I studied and increased my knowledge, the more brothers would encage me in spiritual discussions. My grandmother told me one time that even a child could say something wise and at the time, she said that I just took it in and never really thought on it. However, one day during a discussion on prophets, a person asked me did I believe in Jesus. I said yeah, I believe in all of God’s prophets. I knew where he was going with the conversation, so I beat him to the punch.” Look,” I said,” different beliefs believe their prophet/messenger is the only one or the son of God especially Christians. However, think on this, all humans are the children of God so how can any one believe that just Jesus is the only son of His.
I see it, as every human being born from the womb of humankind is descendents of his one true creation, Adam. Adam was the only being that did not come through the womb but from God’s creativity. So if we as humans have to believe that there is a son, then that son has to be Adam.” I was just talking trying to get this subject out of the way because it seem that brothers of Christianity always used that argument as a way to appear in a higher light above the other religions. The impact of my words registered on other people’s mind before it hit me. That conversation happened at lunch and by the time, the next cell count came; those words had spread around the compound.
I started to be viewed in a different light, not as a student but as a teacher. Why? Because those words put religion back to where it is supposed to be, even across the board. I sprouted those words, not from deepness, but because I had recently read something in a fiction book that hit me. It read something like this;’ Spirituality is a stained glass window. On one side is the sun, which represents God, and as its ray beam through onto the other side, it projects an array of colored lights on the floor. Now, each color represents a different religion and the sun represents one God. If you get to the basis of each religion there is one God, one source of all religion. It do not matter which color you choose or which religion. What only matters is which ever path man take, it all leads back to one source, God.’ Now, I ask you, can anyone feel that? I know I can and did. Please do not misconstrue what I am saying about my spiritual beliefs. I believe in God and all of the messages He sent down to humanity. This includes the Bible, the Torah, the Quran and the rest.
I am a Muslim because, what is written in this book, is a way of life that changed my soul and mind to conform to His wishes that humanity lives by. Now every message that was sent down contain the same concept and direction of life it just that people, individually, need certain keys to change and Islam gave me those keys I needed to reaffirm my beliefs. None of the religions are barbaric or destructive, but each has had its messages revised by some human to have it justify their destructiveness or greed. If you study religion as a whole, you will see that each message was sent down at a time where man was the most forgetful or had the most disregards of the laws of God. Hence, He sent down reaffirmations to mankind in different forms Every human being goes astray of God in their lives but their road back to salvation may not be by way of just one religion, so if the individual finds his/her salvation don’t hate or put down that religion but rejoice in the fact that they found their way back to the path of salvation. If I drove a Honda to salvation, you drove a B.M.W to salvation, and another person drove a Ford to salvation, what is the difference as long as we all reached salvation on our eve of judgment day, right?
We all have been saved right? We all had to believe in God, right? So what is the difference? None and that is the bottom line in my sight. The next stage of my discovery of who I was came when I started to look at my heritage and ancestry .It is one thing to grow up black in America but it is something else if you do not know how you came to grow up black in America. What I mean is this, most black people hear about where they come from but hardly any person has researched the line that has brought them to where they are now. It is a line pass civil rights, there is a line pass Jim Crow, there is a line pass the emancipation, there is line pass slavery. Before I could really define who I was, I had to go back to the beginning of the line. I had to see the origins of the line so that I could know what was expected of me from my heritage. The traits like courage, strength, character, determination, pride, creativity, and all that held the line together and kept it going. Something had to have kept it going because I would not be here if it had been destroyed or annihilated. After I knew that I had to trace my ancestral line, I started in the most logical place; the prison library.
Why there? Because I already know the roots of my family’s last name, I wanted to know the history of my skin color; from America to Africa. I discovered, after several visits to the library, that they had a video room that had documentary videos that was of a wide variety. They had videos of slavery, segregation, civil rights movement, Jim Crow, and Africa. I saw the places where our ancestors were first put on the ship, how they were shipped, and the treatment they received. I looked up the place where they were shipped and traced back from there. I learned that the vast majority where from the upper regions of Africa; the farmers and cattle herders, ones who knew the land and knew how to cultivate it. I found out that a lot where just tricked into leaving so they could cultivate land of their own. It was put as an opportunity for them to start a new life free from over crowdedness, a place that had very rich soil that could grow anything. I am talking mainly Mandinka/Mandingo tribes.
I followed the ship voyages to Haiti, Cuba, Jamaica, and to all the islands in the seas. Then finally, we came to America. At first, it was as members of ship crews, those that knew how to cultivate land (and were in the same color hue as the natives). As the new settlers started to move inland, the more they needed slaves to work for them. Slavery was a business in lives nothing more nothing less. I watched as black men were hung or chained and beat, or burned alive, or the most horrific way possible, their manhood cut off and left to die a slow death. I watched as the times changed for us to become Jim Crow laws and segregation.
I saw blacks; men, women, and children, being beat and hung being raped and killed, just being treated as a material objects that was to be done with as they saw fit. So many tears of pain, frustration, and rage flowed from my eyes over a period of time that my senses began to drown in them. Something strange happened to me after awhile, I stopped crying and that made me stop viewing the videos for a couple of days. All those feelings that were flowing through me began to manifest into a way of study. I thought about this change in me long and hard. I saw that I had exhausted myself out on emotions and I saw that these videos could become an instrument for my betterment. Therefore, I started looking at not the destruction of my people but at the inner souls of my black folks.
What made them have the fortitude to endure this and how did they survive? I started freeze-framing the videos on close ups of individuals and looking deep into the eyes. What I saw in those eyes changed me because in those eyes I saw determination, courage, strength, pride, and endurance. I realized that what was in them was in me also. You can take away the outside but you could not ever take away what was on the inside. Those qualities of character was handed down to me, I just had to focus on them and learn to cultivate them in side of myself just as if my ancestors had to cultivate the lands. I learned to be strong, proud, respectful, humble, and strong-willed. I learned to hold my head high and even higher in hard times; I learned and learned and learned, for my very existence depended on it.
The change in me was not overnight but over a period of years. I started incorporating these things into my everyday thoughts and actions and after awhile I started to notice how the people around me related to the new me. This is best expressed by Yusif my cellmate,” You have become a man of dignity. I can see that no matter the situation of where you are at or what you do, you have become a man of humbleness, respect, whose intelligence is based on facts not hearsay or fiction.
You were seen as a physical intimidator that other people avoided, now people see you as a powerful man of influence. You still have that physical intimidation but you have developed a powerful presence of mind that lessens the physical. This lets people know that you can be approached but they must approach in a manner to which you project yourself. And that approach must be with humbleness and respectfulness.” I gave this analysis of me some thought and I started to formulate and write down all the things that made my inner change so complete. I did this because from the metamorphosis of my being, I learned what I wanted to be in life, a teacher/counselor of youths.
These learning of self have evolved into four philosophies I have come to live by and teach by: LIVE, LEARN, LOVE, and LISTEN.
In order to LIVE, one must believe in God for he is the Creator of the heavens, earth, and all that is in between. He decrees what is to be and what is not to be. All rewards that He grants in life come from the positive actions, thoughts, and deeds of a person. Only He is the one that settles all life’s accounts yet He is most merciful and most forgiving.
In order to have a fruitful life, one must LEARN because learning helps one stay ahead in life, intelligently. One must know that learning is never ending from birth to death.
In order to be content, one must LOVE one’s self way before one can love another. In order for one to have understanding, one must LISTEN. Listen to one’s inner self, one’s inner voice yet listens to other people: Because as one listen, one learns to love one’s self and one can live one’s life completely and productively.
Now, I am no longer the El Negro who was the king of the valley of the dead. I am no longer all that and a truckload of chips. Who am I? I am three hundred and sixty degrees of blackness: a complete circle of blackness. The first hundred and eighty degrees is the direct reflection of my past; from African heritage, to slavery, to segregation, to my imprisonment. The second hundred and eighty degrees is my present direction and my future direction. This is a continuation of my spiritual and mental growth, leading a productive life, teaching my adult son and grandson, seventeen-year-old daughter, and my thirteen-year-old stepson, and other youths towards the pursuit of life, liberty, and their African-American dreams. This is who I am, this is who I be.
AMER-FRI-CAN
AMERFRICAN I AM; I BE AMERFRICAN,
MY BLOOD COMES FROM AN AFRICAN WARRIOR’S BLOOD,
AND SLAVES OF AMERICA, MAN, MAN, MAN…
MY COLOR HAS TRANSCENDED BOTH CULTURES,
AND SHOWS THIS WHICH I CLAIM…
NEGRO, BLACK, AFRICAN-AMERICAN?
NO I WILL LET MY BLOODLINE BE MY NAME…
AN AFRICAN WARRIOR’S HEART & FURY, PLUS
AN AMERICAN SLAVE’S DEGRADATION AND PAIN…
MAKE UP THIS POTENT, EXPLOSIVE, DETERMINED BLOOD,
THAT FLOWS DEEP THROUGHOUT MY VEINS…
FROM AN AMERICAN SLAVE’S DETERMINATION & WILL,
TO AN AFRICAN WARRIOR’S LEADERSHIP, FIERCENESS, EVEN
DOWN TO HIS RHYTHMICAL DANCE…
DOMINATES, RULES, AND PUMPS THROUGH ME,
FROM CENTER TO CIRCUMFERENCE…
FROM AMERICAN SLAVE ANCESTORS,
WITH AFRICAN WARRIOR HEREDITY,
AMERFRICAN I AM, I BE AMERFRICAN…
A DOUBLE EDGED SWORD
{AFRICAN-AMERICANS W/ NATIVE AMERICAN ANCESTORY}
A FIERCE INDIAN WARRIOR’S BLOOD,
COMBINED WITH AN AFRICAN WARRIOR’S BLOODLINE,
IS A MIXTURE OF HERETAGE WHICH IS RICH IN STRENGTH,
SO EXPLOSIVE, SO FIERY, SO PROUD OF A KIND…
THIS LINE IS SO LITTLY KNOWN,
HISTORIANS HAVEN’T EVEN LOOKED AT IT,
BUT WHEN THE SLAVES WERE FREED,
THEY AND THE INDIANS BEGAN TO MIX…
AFRICANS WERE DEFEATED BY SHINY SLICKERY,
AND NATIVE AMERICANS BY DEVILISH TRICKERY,
BOTH BY THE SAME ENEMY…
IN A FIGHT,
NEITHER ONE COULD BE BEAT,
SO OTHER WAYS WERE FOUND TO DEFEAT…
NOW, TAKE THESE TWO STRONG BLOODLINES,
MIX,
YOU GET A FINE STRONGER BLOODLINE REDEFINED,
JUST THE THOUGHT ENHANCES THE MIND…
IT IS PAST TIME TO GIVE THIS BLOODLINE,
IT’S PROPER ACCORD,
IT’S A MIXTURE OF NATIVE AMERICAN BLOOD,
WITH AFRICAN BLOOD,
A DOUBLE OF ALL COMBINED STRENGTHS,
STRONGER THEN ANYTHING, OH LORD,
THIS IS HOW WE GOT THIS
DOUBLE EDGED SWORD…
WHY A DOUBLED EDGED SWORD?
WITH THE COMBINED HISTORIES OF BRAVENESS, STRENGTHS, TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS, DEGREDATION, AND PAINS;ONLY SHARPENED THE EDGE TO SUCCEED, TO OVERCOME, TO BE PROUD, TO BE DETERMINED, AND TO ADVANCE AND GAIN.IF YOU LOOK CLOSER AT THIS ANCESTORY YOU WILL DISCOVER THAT THESE MEN AND WOMEN WHOSE BLOODLINE WERE SEPERATELY CONQUERED, UNITED TOGETHER TO CREATE A BLODLINE THAT NOT ONLY IS STRONGER BUT HOLDS DOUBLY EVERY POSITIVE FIBER IN BOTH LINES.FROM SEAS OF TEARS TO THE TRAIL OF TEARS, THIS BLOODLINE NO LONGER HARBORS ANY MORE FEARS
PENITENTARY STATE OF MIND
TO BE CONFINED TO A CELL
IS TRUELY HELL …
AND TO CONFINED THE MIND
IS HELL JUST AS WELL…
I CAN ESCAPE WITH
AN INTREGATE PLAN;
BUT IT SEEMS, I AM PLACED BACK BY
MYSELF, MAN OR WOMAN…
EITHER HELL IS A PLACE
NO ONE WANTS TO BE;
MYSELF, MAN OR WOMAN JUST HATE
TO SEE ME SET FREE…
IN BOTH HELLS, I MUST CONFORM
TO OTHER PEOPLE’S RULES;
AND QUIETLY AT NIGHT, I SHARPEN
MY ESCAPE TOOLS…
THESE TOOLS ARE FOR THE PURPOSE
OF ESCAPING MY CONFINEMENT;
EACH NIGHT I SHARPEN THEM
MY ESCAPE BECOMES HELL BENT…
IF ONLY I OR MY CONFINERS COULD SEE;
IT IS BETTER FOR ME TO BE FREE…
WHEN I FREE Y MIND
MY ASS WILL FOLLOW;
BUT IF I DON’T, MY MIND
BECOMES STAGNENT AND SHALLOW…
IN THESE CELLS, MY MIND PONDERS
WHO I AM AND WHAT I CAN BE;
BUT I WILL NEVER FIND OUT
UNLESS I AM FREE…
IN THESE CELL WALLS,
MY NATURE MIGHT BE KILLED;
WHICH IS WHAT I OR MY CONFINERS
HOPE IS FORFILLED…
MY NATURE IS ME
IT’S ONE OF A KIND;
SO UNTIL I SET MY SELF FREE
I’LL JUST KEEP A
PENITENTARY STATE OF MIND…
A BATTLE REVISITED
A MISTY HAZE
LIFTS DURING SLEEP,
ON LONG HOT NIGHTS,
CLEARING A VISION OF
ZULU’S SCREAMS AND SHOUTS,
IN BATTLE FIGHTS…
DRIFTING OVER THAT LAST HILL,
COMES A SIGHT TO ME,
OF STRONG WARRIORS CLASHING
WITH THE ENEMY,
IN THE VALLEY OF
THE BANSHEE…
THE HAZE FOGS BACK UP,
THEN FINALLY GO,
I CAN SEE VISIONS
OF ZULU WARRIOR CORPS,
UNDI
& UDIOKO…
OSKARBERG TERRENCE, BUFFALO PLAIN, ULUNDI, ESHOWE,
ARE JUST A FEW PLACES,
WHERE PRIDE, HONOR, & DETERMINATION FIGHT,
I SLEEPILY SMILE
CAUSE THOSE STRONG WARRIORS
IS A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT…
AS THE SUNNY DAWN ARISES AND
THE DREAM FADES AT LAST,
I AWAKE FEELING
A DEEP SENSE OF PRIDE AND HONOR,
AS THOSE VICTORY SCREAMS
ARE STILL ECHOING FROM MY PAST…
A STRONG BLACK KING
MY MIND FLOATS LIKE A BUTTERFLY
AND IT’S
WISDOM STINGS LIKE A BEE.
[RUMBLE YOUNG MAN RUMBLE]
MY HEART SOARS
AND REMAINS FREE; AND STAYS PEACEFUL
BY ANY MEANS NECCESARY
MY SOUL IS LIGHT OF LOAD
AND ALWAYS STAYS HIGH
BY HIGHWAY OR THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD
MY CHARACTER IS STRONG
YET 90% INNOCENT
JUST EXAMINE its CONTENTS
FOR THIS CYHARACTER IS HEAVEN SENT
MY SPIRIT, OH, MY SPIRIT
IS A MESMERIZING BRIGHT
JUST HEARING MY VOICE
WILL MAKE YOU WALK INTO
THE LIGHT
SO WHEN
YOU’RE AROUND PEOPLE
AND
YOU’RE HEART RACES FAST
FEAR NOT FOR
A STRONG BLACK KING IS NEAR YOU
OR
I JUST WENT PAST
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