Change...

Change….


we placed hands on the pregnant stomach of democracy/
with faces pressed firmly against the glass partition/
we waited/
all cultures, religions, ethnic make up’s, sexual persuasions
simmering in a melting pot of change/
stirred by the interlocked fingers of strangers/
creating a beautiful rainbow/

we, share this moment with the past/
with those generations that withstood the hurricanes of hate/
only to weep as change was silenced/
during a motorcade in Dallas/
a speech in a ballroom in New York/
in a hotel kitchen in Los Angles/
on warm day on a balcony in Memphis/

those who remember, these Messiahs of change/
carry the ghost of the news footage in their eyes/
it walks the halls of their voices/
is regenerated each time they are asked/
"do you remember”

they remember those days/
as vividly as the first time the billy club stuck/
shaky arthritic fingers become tour guides of the landmarks/
where the billy clubs left tattooed reminders of the hatred
produced by southern sadistic ways/

they can still hear the barking, as it were yesterday/
still feel the sting of canine teeth sinking into their skin/
can point to the spot where the dogs/
acquired their taste for human flesh/

those strong enough, will turn around, lift up their shirts/
tell you to look closely at their backs/
there, you will see where the water pumped through hoses/
ripped away skin as if it were papier-mâché/

ask them about the reoccurring visions, the nightmares/
of seeing black bodies hanging from trees/
ask of the stench of burning flesh that filled their nostrils/
while white men and their families took pictures and had picnics/
children were told, not to turn their heads/
THIS is how you treat nigga’s/

So, you say; WE did it/
I say NO, they did it./
This election, is their day/
We are just the recipients of Change/
A diamond cultivated in the dry bones of ancestors/
Their sacrifices, their blood creating its shine/

So, do not laugh at the Elder/
Who recreates Aunt Jemima smiles/
While doing a Stepin Fetchit jig on wobble legs/
Those who scream hallelujah while clutching the book of their enslavers/
Refrain from staring at those, who have fallen to their knees/
Fingers spread wide in the grass like cobwebs/
They are connecting with the souls of those that did not make it/
But prayed for this day/

And let them cry/
Their tears will find the soil and become diamonds/
The down payment for future generations/
Awaiting a birth/
Whose search for CHANGE will be found/
Simmering inside a pot/
At the end of a rainbow/


Copyright © 2009 Copasetic Soul