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The police hunting down our babies, make it skin vs a badge, since Alex Haley aint around I use my pen on this pad, if I speak, I speak for those who died both nameless, and black, you know the kids, the ones who blameless, except they born in Chiraq, why Mike Brown can't be a doctor, death the reason he can't, so now he chill with Brother Malcolm, who first embraced Oscar Grant, said it really hurt it soul, we getting smoked by police, Redd Fox said it was cold, no joke to Ms. Della Reese, Martin asked whats up with Jesse, Huey sat with his burner, George Jackson gave a nod, as he sat with Nat Turner, Fred Hampton gave a hug, I feel that grip to this day, Ms. Tubman said to always pray, while Che just tipped his beret, met some authors from the past, and drunk some tea with Parks, had a blast with Arthur Ashe, then me and Bob went to spark, heard a sound, but wasn’t sure, until it went through the crowd, best believe that it was James, saying he Black, and he proud, Mr. Gaye was really cool, his words earned my admiration, while Ms. Bethune said go to school, concerned with my education, look at Nelson next to Winnie, if he go she gone ride, while Biko warned me of the beast, modern day apartheid, saw my Granny cross the room, then I held out my hands, that's when Luther hit a tune, you know he sang as we danced, seen my Pops and I just smiled, styled from his top to his shoes, after that the curtain dropped, and Billy sang bout her Blues, I was walking had to stop, heard one word, it was sorry, looked in his eyes and it was Pac, talking to Mr. Garvey, saw Amistad, and gave a nod, no plead he got it dismissed, next person ask me what I need, was Mr. Fredrick Douglass, told me that the journeys mine, I cried from this declaration, so filled with pride, those Haitians died, so I can have liberation, so as a man, do all I can, might write a book gain fame, then I think of Mr. Cooke, who told me son go make change!
By Andre Thomas
