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    Lightbringer

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      by

      black on black

      rhymes

     

      Part II:

      The Desert of the Real

      savage

      like

      hunters and gatherers

      we been getting played for eons

      silly peons

      tricks r four kids

      they pack chrome plated pistols

      blow hollow tipped whistles

      as the hot wind bristles and sizzles in the chocolate city

      those witty and gritty turn shifty never see fifty

      barely fifteen started chasin cream and dreams

      bright lights big city blues and now they get used

      as warnings to communicate

      to sedate millions of feelins

      raising children in sewers while the devils barbecue skewers and pops

      burnin flesh never rests

      failing life’s tests with flying colors

      they combine to darken night skies

      illuminated by the seductive moon

      proving that there’s little room at the top

      and even longer ways to drop

      like bombs on innocents

      or psalms on hypocrites

      eye-witnesses to tragedy

      now glad to be hunting and gathering lost souls at the crossroads

      bought and sold like animals

      now cannibals devouring their brotherly flesh

      failing deaths tests with flyin colors

      they combine to darken night skies

      illuminated by the misleading moon

      proving that there’s little room at the top

      and the savagery will not stop

      like rogue cops poppin shots at our defenseless women

      blamed for original sinning

      since the beginning of this war whose winnin

      whose grinning

      when this world stops spinnin and goes down the drain

      the pain will not cease

      we left peace when we left the garden

      failin god’s tests with flyin colors

      they combine to darken night skies

      illuminated by the meaningless moon

      proving that there’s little room at the top

      and we ain’t learned nothing

      in all this time

      down south

      stardust sprinkles us

      as we lay beneath his glow

      in farmer smith’s meadow

      crickets sing their songs of slumber slow

      sinking—

      in the absence of light

      swallowed

      by her lovely eyes

      captured—

      like those autumn fireflies

      she never let me catch

      lost and found in this small town

      the only negro in the batch

      as i smile

      she frowns

      bringing my good mood down

      i long to touch her hair of deepest ebony

      to feel those kinking strands move through my hands

      instead i choose to fan

      mosquitoes from her furrowed brow

      wondering how i can get her to stay

      a little longer with me this day

      so i play a little tune

      on granddad’s harmonica about the moon

      june was when i first

      swooned

      from seeing her blossoms—

      in full bloom one look and i was

      doomed

      to a life of dual captivity

      trapped—

      between tragedy and rhapsody

      humbled

      by her humanity

      when she touches me

      my bondage is erased

      she makes me feel safe

      i ignore the skin that was chaffed

      my screaming scars

      my hate

      even the barking dogs that await

      because to find her is to know

      that love exists even in sorrow

      for i finally saw tomorrow

      beyond the walls of woe

      in the eyes of jim crow

      já fui asaltado (i’ve already been robbed)

      african-brazilians were the last slaves from africa to be granted freedom almost twenty years after the emancipation proclamation.

      eu já fui asaltado por o diabo que está me matando devagar

      não posso chegar ao seu ceu americano

      porque terra é inferno pra o negro brasileiro.

      i’ve been watching you brother

      seen you walking my streets in the white man’s uniform

      my currency burns holes in your pockets as you wear a smoky smile on your face

      sin is in your heart

      yes, i call you brother, but you are only my brother because of our shared skin color

      that’s all we’ve ever shared

      our symbolic mother spits on me whenever we’re in the same room

      yes we came from the same womb

      you were freed first and i was left with the scraps

      you were relaxing your afro

      and i was still picking out sugar cane and cotton knaps

      you never offered me a hand

      i suffered to eat through rotting teeth

      you scolded me about freedom of speech, freedom of religion and freedom of choice

      i asked you to explain

      you drove by me in a gold rolls royce

      drinking milk and honey

      laughing all the way to the bank

      i didn’t understand what was so funny until i saw you just now

      my family kills itself to eat off of $65 per month

      you just spent that on your lunch break

      you make my whole life savings on a bi-weekly basis

      i’ve heard that it’s impossible for the oppressed to be racist

      i see how you look at me with disgust

      you complain that your fate and future is discussed in corporate board rooms

      as they plan your demise

      but at least you’re on their minds

      but all that’s on your mind are my women that leave you hot and bothered

      you leave them barefoot, bothered, and burdened with baby’s

      they search for baby fathers that only come to call during carnival

      you rape their minds with razor wire dreams

      that they might escape my cruel fate and leave as your mate

      they return that hate to me

      they patiently wait for you to come back, come back, come back

      the line between right and wrong is slanted in your favor

      i want to even the score for every person that’s ever been sick, tired, and poor

      you americans say, when opportunity knocks on the door...

      in my case it’s a tattered screen

      that opens up into a one room mud house full of hope fiends

      foolishly chasing your american dream

      i would gladly sell my soul for just one percent of the opportunity that you take for granted

      you smoke fat sacks of green and spend fat stacks of green

      my black and blue people are dying

      my impoverished babies are crying

      my world bank reliant politicians are lying...just like you

      on some beach in rio de janeiro your brown skin burns slow

      you now know why i planned this crime

      i was inspired by tv

      shows like the fresh prince and cosby showed me a reality i’d never see

      unless i took it

      like how the thief took carlton’s cash at the atm

      i can relate to him

      like the europeans that divided and conquered us in the first place

      you’re no different from them

      like all of you that take and take and take and take

      take these bullets with you to hell and see how much you can get for your soul on resale <
    br />
      though your skin is dark your spirit is pale

      i told you at the beginning of this tale

      i’ve already been robbed

      by a devil that’s killing me slowly

      i’ll never arrive in your american heaven because earth is hell for a black brazilian

      every night in the news you see how we kill men

      you see how we kidnap them and take them into the mountains

      ponce de leon searched for youth fountains but my holy grail is in your pockets

      in your cow skin wallet i will find my salvation

      sandwiched between your credit cards and library card is my green card

      because freedom however temporary tastes just as sweet

      we finally meet face to face on this breezy evening

      to talk about evening the odds a bit

      i’ll bet my life that now you’ll remember me, and this cold steel pressed against your head

      see i’m you’re worst nightmare because i show you how things could end up

      if that majority in your country

      abruptly called martial law and sent your ass back to the plantation

      you would see how my life is every day in this nation

      i’ve already been robbed so there’s nothing left for you to take

      so now you can finally give

      give me a sample of the lifestyle that’s so good you smile amidst a sea of frowns

      give me a chance to climb up that social ladder

      so i too can look down on the helpless, hopeless and homeless

      don’t look around for help, focus on this moment and don’t move

      eu já fui asaltado

      i’ve got nothing left to lose

      the day after

      thousands of lives just cut short

      some sort of diplomatic blood sport

      global tag

      body bags

      missing moms and dads

      media playing faces of those sad

      intermixed celebrations of those glad

      its all come to this

      not capitalist, communist, or socialist

      just pissed

      targets they hit

      many more will be missed

      the point of all this can’t be dismissed

      as an act of war or simply bad karma

      making orphaned babies wake up this morning to soldiers and no mamas

      sirens and cell phone sounds intermixing with prayers of the world`s people

      hoping god is still listening

      interfering with the wicked words of war

      the devil is whispering

      the devil is whispering

      violence begets violence but no solutions

      government only wants to cause more confusion

      using and taking, bullying and faking

      trying to act tough but their knees are shaking

      breaking news

      an unseen enemy

      shattered silence

      now it is time for all to pray for god`s grace and guidance

      be humbled to his will, but still remain strong

      9-11-01

      a date terribly surreal

      humanity must come together and heal

      open the lines of communication

      stop the hating

      debating on which button to push

      call, write, or e-mail george w. bush

      in a push for peace from west to east

      keep rallying until violence is ceased

      silence the beast of terror

      broken home

      this country is built

      upon broken backs

      of native americans, chinese, and of course blacks

      when john smith and his cronies took shore leave

      blacks toiled on knees for centuries

      digging deep to find roots long lost in other lands

      like a remote control

      african souls muted

      until finally accepting white doctrines and dogma

      using the bible as a shield deflecting guilt

      when the last drops of pure african blood spilled into the land

      they felt no remorse

      forcing blacks to work against their will

      forcing black women into indigo corners

      dark mourners singing hymns

      about him and his people the embodiment of evil

      white devil they called him

      cursing blue-eyed bundles of scorn

      free born

      a land of opportunity at their feet

      bowing heads in defeat

      planning a resurrection underneath overconfident eyes

      strategizing creating the underground railroad

      using the moon as a guide

      becoming run-a-ways turning pages of his-tory black

      escaping across the mason-dixon

      unfortunately it was flight in the wrong direction

      white clouds know no boundaries

      birds once caged find freedom in the city exploring the joy of being free

      yet the reign continues on parades of freedom demonstrators

      thinking that sooner or later their resolve will drown

      they are right

      floodgates of hatred the only reality

      pouring over this country

      built upon broken backs of native americans, chinese and of course blacks

      where four little girls pleas for help

      completely ignored

      by wanna-be ghosts pouring kerosene all over so-called american dreams

      now hear them sing

      about god blessing the child that’s got his own

      what about owned children

      locked in mental cages

      who will save them from themselves

      constantly dwelling on the past

      never moving forward

      from the four scoring of four hundred years ago

      the african holocausting more than one million lives

      what’s to become of those that survived this tragedy

      well every year

      masses come from broken homes

      multitudes die alone

      all raised

      in a broken home

      by abusive american founding fathers

      never writing them into the will when they died

      now look

      direct your attention to the systems bastard children

      playing victim at 400 years of age

      displaced rage all they feel

      forcefed inherited shit

      yet responsible for the bill

      maybe that’s why they never leave tips

      feeling the remnants of whips

      long decayed

      delaying leaving home too long

      can’t go back to their mother…africa

      perceived as a sad slut

      she’s got her own problems to solve

      they’ve got to resolve

      to mend what’s been broken

      instead of being humpty-dumpty’s

      in a country waiting for all the kings men

      to put them back together again

      it’ll never happen

      because these are the same men

      that divided and conquered them in the first place

      these are the same men

      that made race an issue but now get offended when the subject is brought up

      raised in this broken home

      watched over

      by that pimping pedophile uncle sam and his #1 money maker lady liberty

      know wonder their racial psychology is so fucked up

      know wonder their cultural identity is so fucked up

      know wonder they’ve been stuck up shit’s creek without a paddle so long

      how do they get right as a people

      after done so wrong time and time again

      what good is a revolution against yourself

     
    what good is chasing wealth and the good life

      when you can’t sleep at night because of the stinging scars tattooed your soul

      we have never been the people for whom that cracked liberty bell tolls

      but we have paid them all

      now choosing to idolize and emulate

      some may never get pass his-tory

      until old and gray

      going on dead and gone

      some bonds are impossible to break

      mistakes

      never forgiven

      you can’t choose your parents

      we are bound to one another

      under the same roof that leaks more every year

      from every tear falling on this broken home…america

      land of inequity

      home of the slave

      the truth

      we’ve been labeled

      as slackers and punk pistol packers

      but we’re really just poor bastards

      trying to keep up with time

      blind not only in sight but in mind

      about the truth

      behind enemy lines we find our youth

      slanging dope on street corners

      as street mourners shrouded in all black

      pack hearses with the cursed children

      even tall buildings appear to sway in the background

      from the weight

      of the truth

      six feet underground

      there are whole cities of those with no pity

      their hungry red eyes peer out of sewers

      looking for something newer to prey upon

      while up on the roof there are shootouts at high noon

      like the ok coral

      now is the final confrontation but we facing

      an enemy too strong to fight with guns and knives

      someday we all gotta die say steel touting street soldiers

      unsheathing nine milli’s that spill bullet shells

      like milk but only mothers cry

      so many tears as years assault their cracking faces

      eventually all races will end

      with the truth

      will we ever begin to pray for a better day

      will the kingdom come

      announced by drums and trumpeting

      something’s gotta give hope

      to the people struggling to defeat evil

      because evil is just live spelled backwards

      we must let our words back our deeds

      as our seeds wait for a taste

      of the light of truth

      we facing long days and even longer nights

      full of more frights than human sight can bare

      stare in the mirror and answers will come

      from the one hiding

      inside the truth

      for what lies beneath the epidermal sheets

      are dead sea scrolls

      knowledge of hieroglyphic scriptures

      pictures of the birth of man in the hand of god

      sand granules from the first pyramids

      constructed by the id ego and superego

      but kryptonite is useless

      against those blessed

      with the truth

      sometimes

      some time is all that’s kneaded

      like dough rising into bread

     

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