In the rhythm of an urban jungle we
hop-scotch across a body chalk-out on
asphalt, we hip-hop without reason or
knowledge of the time in rhyme, lock-step
to a funky beat, finger-popping and
heads nodding to a death march of lyrics
setting a tone without hesitation of
Coming to terms with the spoken word
whose message is to suffer peacefully
with your eyes closed to a racist reality.
Just as there is a calm before the
storm, a tornado of destructive music rumbles
through your brain, leaving in its wake the
shame of what happened yesterday – fragmented
memories slammed against the wall of
today’s tragedies.
Lessons unlearned - karma repeated in a future term.
As capitalist capitalize the capital flies
the racist flag - bars and stars or stars
and strips, when they come at night it doesn't
matter they bring the same fright, a lead coated
hangman's noose shaped like a dum-dum, you
can't run to afraid to fight intoxicated by
the illusions of their might. And the band
play on with a bass-line that thumped in
syncopation to slamming drums to a drug-out
hip-hop nation.
2002 --- jALIL