They ask me, “What?”
What is my fascination with adoration and infatuation?
Not taking into consideration that these are the kernels
from which the lifeblood of man and wife love
springs forth.
They ask me, “Why?”
Why do I trivialize my ink addressing such things
when in less time than the blink
of a human eye our brothas and sistas die?
Rarely taking the time to think
that love gives rise to devotion;
that your heart when it has your nose open
will sacrifice itself so their hopes and
their dreams not only survive…but thrive,
renewing your purpose in being alive. So, I sigh…
For What and Why need not be asked.
Just look at our black family’s past:
When family bonds were armor.
When our matriarchs were honored
as the backbone of our clans
in these distant and foreign lands
that bred us for stronger hands
and longer hours than they
themselves could stand.
When that crow named James
cawed laws to maintain
his control over his own mother,
and though his scientists would discover
we ALL descend from the same maternal
womb, still can’t accept we are brothers.
When our money - just as green -
held in our hands somehow seemed
unworthy of their economy
so we built our own
since they wanted to be…segregated,
but they couldn’t leave us alone.
So when we excelled they let their hatred
loose like vicious beasts! Crushed our bones,
burned our banks and made rivers of black Wall streets
run with our blood on several occasions
all across this damnable nation!
When they who professed Christian ways
sent numerous black men to early graves
for daring hold them accountable to their own teaching!
Subjected black children to hosings and beatings
for holding up mirrors to their shame!
How did we survive this?
Love…Black love to be precise is
the fundamental source of our resilience
for bouncing back from every foul experience
we’ve encountered, and we’re still here.
And even today, we still dare to cry out for justice
when those sworn to protect us choose to touch us
with the finger of death but what’s fvcked up is
our love for ourselves ain’t the same.
Got us looking outside of our own to attain some semblance of joy.
Hoodwinked by divide and conquer tactics they employ;
causing us to resent us. To be against us.
Embracing images that misrepresent us so we might reject …us.
So don’t ask me Why and What as it pertains to what I pen.
If adoration is the seed of love, that’s where I must begin.
I will water it ‘til tears of grief become joy once again,
or until the day that I no longer can.
-HymnAgen
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