i.
i don't just love him
i luh him
in dunbar patois
love like
plantation-crossin'
lynch-riskin' love.
ii.
the love of black folks
is laced with apprehension
we are
civil rights grantees
in urban flight realities
massa still watches
listens at drum circles
infiltrates underground railroad stops
scooping up lost ones
along the way
gentrification paddy-rolls communities
out of existence
project communes scattered to the wind
stealing cultures and communities
all over again
if you still speak the language of your village
you are blessed...
the hood's fucked up but
home is home and
increasingly we are being forced to realize that
we cannot go home again
--at least not until we own the land
own ourselves
we must become
sankofa phoenixes
working thru the past to the future
rising from the ashes
see past/present/future as one
cp time was once
multidimensional shamanic reality
our assets now
liabilities in the face of
the anti-culture.
iii.
black love is endangered
hunted for its beauty and consciousness
its strength can build monuments
that laugh at time
our most precious commodity
like the gold of africa
--so plentiful we treated it like
georgia clay
but
we cannot afford to forget
our worth in the eyes of others.
stay watchful
be wary
wake up.
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