Question:
If you caught the image of a man
Fading in a shattered mirror
Like a shadow pursuing
The sight of sunset
After it rains,
What do you do?
How do you explain his reflection battered
Due to someone else
Who threw stones at that mirror
Not you...
But it's you who stand there
Staring at the broken image of a man
Fading like our thoughts before we sleep...
Like our dreams when we awake...
Dreams -
I had a dream
A dream that the moisture
From a mother's tears
Rusted the metal
Welded to the frame
Of this broken mirror
That the fire
Ignited by the lighters
Found in the pockets
Of dissatisfied fighters
Scorched the facists rope
Constraining our wrists
Far beyond captivity
But are we free?
Then why do we stand there
Staring at the broken image of a man
Fading with the sincerity
Of tomororrow's history?
Is it misery that comforts us
When fear approaches us?
Well, I'm sorry Misery.
I'm sorry that you put in
So much effort
Towards the demise
Of opportunity
You see, the unjust tragedy
You shot for
Shot back
And today's judical class classifies
Your sudden death
As troubled suicide
But, both you and I know
That most of the time
Most of the truth
Is consumed by just a few lies.
So, how do you revive the eyes
That have been fading in a shattered mirror,
Like the worn out soul
Of old, grumpy shoes?
How do you convince him
That his face is not white,
Nor the color of his body black?
But instead, it was the soil,
As rich as the heart of Assata,
That identified the people
Who cultivated life
When all hopes were lost
Understand, it was never the hands
But rather the land
That was black
Wayback before any
of the people were kidnapped
But somehow, someway
These people obtained
The name black
A name that gave them identity
When all hopes were lost
Now look deep into that mirror
And tell me
Tell me how you will tell him
That his ancestors were called niggers
Because through ignominious nascent
Some genius decided that
They were all ignorant
But then after so many generations
of dedication and benevolence
He decides to take pride in calling himself nigga
As a result of his own ignorance
As a result of being born blind
In a rich man's world
Where poverty's been the easiest way
To make money.
Where popularity defines morality
And spiritual spooks become reality
Nevertheless, he still fades.
Like the tears of time
Pieces of his existence
Will fall from eternity
Crying will not help him
No, crying will not save him from fading
Eventually, disappearing
From the distored reflection
In a shattered mirror.
So, what do you do?
If it was me,
I'd fix the mirror
But leave the cracks.
RAP
Copyright © 2011
