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Literature -
Poems
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Tuesday, 12 September 2006 23:01 |
by Blackspeare I bang my head
Against the walls of Babylon,
Wondering if these walls
Will ever fall.
The wind rages
Like the bastard children
of Africa
Who ring dance around
The bodies of black angels
Lynched by their own halos.
Do I retaliate
Against the face of hate
Or the haste of fate?
Do I let justice run its course?
Or scream at the walls
Until my voice gets hoarsed?
Babylon,
The land that flows
With blood and money.
Where God was forced
Into private school.
Where Jesus jingles quarters
In a cup on the corner.
Where the Holy Ghost
Waits in unemployment lines,
With liquor on his breath,
And that barren look of death.
I bang my head
Against the walls of Babylon,
Wondering if these walls
Will ever fall.
Frustrated and miseducated,
Negroes still circle the wilderness
Wondering why their college degrees
Don’t split no seas.
Pimps and hoes
Wearing designer clothes,
A brotha can’t get work
Because of cornrows.
Earth, Wind, and Fire groove
At three corners of the world,
And at the fourth,
A vagabond plays a tom-tom
That shakes the walls of Babylon.
Cracked, chipped brick
Three cubits thick,
Eroded by conflict
And friction.
Only standing on promises
Made by politicians.
Within the belly of the beast,
People shriek
And gnash their teeth.
Rumbles crescendo
Into riots
People die
To live in quiet.
Blackspeare ©1999
You can see more of the author's work here. |
