Lightbringer Read online

  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 <
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  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