No sir, they don’t want another Jonathan Jackson. They want a masked man, later identified as a Black man. It’s more mysterious. Our enemy is serious.
I awake to the sound of kids playing in the park. Gunfire interrupts their joy.
The cops killed a baby holding a toy … gun. Labeled as boy one – boy two is you, me …
We all fit the description but can’t fit in the same box – or fit on the same block and coexist.
So you kill yourselves, and will yourselves in a hell that’s hot enough to burn down two buildings. Tricked by the pilgrims.
And you’re misled by something you read from public news media, or some ninny in Hollywood, who probably would if he could but don’t have a clue.
And if the shoe fits, use it to run, because the sun rays will brighten our days to come, while we stand on the soil of turmoil, killing for oil and self-righteousness.
And I’m tired of the bombs dropping, the eavesdropping by Uncle Sam.
“We have to protect you from yourselves!” But who will protect me from you, when you send the troops through the projects to kill my babies? Who will save me?
Who will save us from another Katrina when we get the middle finger, AGAIN?
When this occurs and your vision blurs, you’ll try to act as if you didn’t see this coming.
But I will remind you to find you, so when you find you, you can remind you to be mindful.
This is my mind food.
Send our brother some love and light: Starkim Allah (Lamar Little), 01A2318, GHCF, P.O. Box 4000, Stormville NY 12582.