[PARAGRAPHS TO HEAVEN]
THE MUSIC FOR THIS PIECE...
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When I was placed in my mothers womb all these things were written on the tablet of my life.
The man who died in my arms in the parking lot of a nightclub...the tears in his mothers eyes as she saw her son lying on the ground collecting the dew of a new morning.
The sound of a hungry child as he screamed in a trap house...the clouds of crack smoke that filled the air as his mother sucked dick in a back room...how he looked at me as I shared a honey bun and some green tea.
The days that I spent staring at the ceiling of a jail cell waking up to pillows full of my crown...the life that flashed before my eyes as they came at me time and time again with life sentences and predictions of my doom.
The sweet smell of the grass as I fell to my knees...the dirt that covered my lips after I kissed the ground...freedom in babylon where my people linger as financial slaves.
These things that have passed before these eyes as I tried to grasp the meaning of all...floating on a raft in the most primal of places where alligators lined the banks of the river that carried I.
Sitting in the forest as a pygmy rattler used my hand as his path...the black bear that stood and looked into my eyes...the rifle forgotten in my hand as he turned and walked away.
The police who slammed my head into the hot hood of his car on a cold night...the power that I felt flow as he had to let me go...eyes opened just a bit more.
The rage I felt as they beat a man in an alley and a riot erupted...sirens and barricades as rocks and sticks became weapons to the mob...fuck the police!!!
The baby bird that became my friend as he grew and learned...as he taught me to look deeper for meaning in a turbulant world...where Allah holds the manuscript...and I am but a character
The morning that I found my son dead and thought that the world had ended...the morning I realised that it was just a new beginning as my children came to my side.
The rain that seems to wash it all away as these lives continue to dirty it up...time and time again.
The very first touch of a woman...the very first time that I held my firstborn daughter, her curls that shined like a halo as she fell asleep in my arms.
These are things that were written before I was born in a back bedroom of my grandmother house...paragraphs of my life...as I live.
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