One day in a modern Babylon on a world somewhere a man awoke.
He cursed his white skin and the dimness of his sun.
He cursed the fact that he had not been born of the darker skin.
He lamented greatly this man.
Looking at his people he saw only apathy and it pressed down, oh it pressed down.
Now this man worked in the factories of the dark man building the dark mans things and every day he wondered if on another world there were enslaved people.
If any other people had gone through what his had, and were going through.
At which stage of their existence they were.
So much thought for one of the ones whose story had been wiped out in great wars and crusades, always fought on the land of his ancestors.
The man looked at his children and knew that they had so far to go.
He wondered if they would make it in the future.
Not just 50 years but thousands.
He thought of his father, such a gentleman, so tormented with the fact that he was leaving children to the ones who had broken his body but not his mind.
The man remembered his passing, he missing him greatly.
He thought of his mother and almost cried, she had endured so much.
These savage streets where she had had to survive.
He remembered the times she had stood up to authority and how it had tried to crush them down.
He had learned from them never to trust the dark ones for in the end they all were one.
They having realized this on some sort of subsonic level.
After work every day the man went home and closed his door and studied of his people.
The sad fact was that when he found truth his people rejected it and looked at him with scorn while falling down on their knees to images of dark gods.
Such a sad situation, truth but a book away and they refused it.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
He cursed his white skin and the dimness of his sun.
He cursed the fact that he had not been born of the darker skin.
He lamented greatly this man.
Looking at his people he saw only apathy and it pressed down, oh it pressed down.
Now this man worked in the factories of the dark man building the dark mans things and every day he wondered if on another world there were enslaved people.
If any other people had gone through what his had, and were going through.
At which stage of their existence they were.
So much thought for one of the ones whose story had been wiped out in great wars and crusades, always fought on the land of his ancestors.
The man looked at his children and knew that they had so far to go.
He wondered if they would make it in the future.
Not just 50 years but thousands.
He thought of his father, such a gentleman, so tormented with the fact that he was leaving children to the ones who had broken his body but not his mind.
The man remembered his passing, he missing him greatly.
He thought of his mother and almost cried, she had endured so much.
These savage streets where she had had to survive.
He remembered the times she had stood up to authority and how it had tried to crush them down.
He had learned from them never to trust the dark ones for in the end they all were one.
They having realized this on some sort of subsonic level.
After work every day the man went home and closed his door and studied of his people.
The sad fact was that when he found truth his people rejected it and looked at him with scorn while falling down on their knees to images of dark gods.
Such a sad situation, truth but a book away and they refused it.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
