{LOVE CONUNDRUM}

{LOVE CONUNDRUM}
THE MUSIC...
http://youtu.be/d0AULEFBxm4

And what language doth one speak out here in the expanse of wanting somebody...
Who doth one talk too?
If one opened their mouth to scream would anyone hear...
Would they care...
Out here.
 If one became vapor that formed the drops of dew that shine in the morning grass would that matter?
The drops of rain falling from grey low hanging clouds that tower to where the sun shines.
A heartbeat... Would anyone give a damn?
If one were to become the atomic basis for the emotion love what would it say?
What would the equation be?
Scribbles on a chalkboard that speak of the energy formed hue-manity.
Broken down and dropped mathematically.
Forming the roots... The trunks... The leaves.
In alien speak would a mans words still mean the same as he enters freefall...
Streaking across the skies of a queens existence.
Crashing with great impact into her world.
He opening his mouth to speak...
She...

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{THE TREASURE CHEST} INSPIRED BY A PICTURE THAT NATASHA KEY SENT ME

{THE TREASURE CHEST} INSPIRED BY A PICTURE THAT NATASHA KEY SENT ME...
THE PICTURE IS FEATURED AT BLOGSPOT... CLICK THIS LINK TO SEE IT...
http://hamzahfaruq.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-treasure-chest-inspired-by-picture.html
THE MUSIC... YOU BETTA LISTEN
http://youtu.be/k27LiD3YDZ4

I a weary griot find myself resting in the shade of your image, you such an ample example of what we still are at the end of our most arduous journey.
My psyche still grasping at the possibility of relief... The promise of better days to come.
I wondering if your milk will bring me the strength needed to wake my community... To change this reality.
Pondering upon the possibilities.
For so long have you haunted me... Speaking to me of the African that courses through my veins... The originality of who and what we are.
Such a fruitful tree.
Our branches reaching skyward and sprouting new leaves.
I longing to taste of your sap lick my lips in anticipation... Remembering it's sweet taste that I once beheld.
A cool drink in the city Timbuktu... A potent potion in Ethiopia as we came from the mountains an army strong.
Ignored by a league of white nations we took back our lands.
Your lessons having been learned and forgotten time and time again as the rappers rip our society to shreds on the mic.
Parading cross the stage.
A most tragic play coming to an ugly end.
My story told around the fire as horror causes the blood to run chill... Makes men look into the darkness and grab their guns.
So sad that the first ones we would have to kill are our own if we want to truly overcome.
They so resistant to change.
So hot in the sun realization where it seems that I am the only one walking... Talking.
I the griot and you the tale of our redemption as told while sitting 4by the fire.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{P.H.A.T.} PUT HER AT THE TOP

{P.H.A.T.} PUT HER AT THE TOP
THE MUSIC...
http://youtu.be/vbGNTHcH5TI

You would have me forget that you liked her thick when she was your slave... When she nursed your babies.

You would paint her fat and show me skinny images of what she's supposed to be.

Such an awful tragedy.

She thick is queen... The mother of all these beings hue-manity.

In these times sadly she has bought into the insanity.

Blond hair... Blue contacts and Barbie doll ambitions.
She has forgotten me it seems... Says she don't need me.

Contrary to all that has been taught her phat to me is the most beautiful thing...

Her thick lips and wide nose, Her gigantic ass and her belly.

A drink richer than triple roast coffee grown on Mount Kilimanjaro.
She so full of melanin that it keeps me awake like a pure shot of the most potent caffeine.
For her I would go straight beast and commit a tragedy of the most epic proportions.
My love that complete.
Bout time somebody stood for her... Had her back in this cold hard world.
Told her that she is fine, thick, thin, black and brown... In her variations that allude to cream.
I cant forget that she is original queen... The stuff of beautiful dreams... The crease in my seam.
I love her like that... I got to build her up even when out here alone I roam... Need her in my life.
My woman,my empress, my sister, my wife.
So imperative that I tell her that... It's absolutely crucial to our survival.
We born of royalty... We the antithesis... We the solution...
Hope she overstands that I have not forgotten these things.


JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{BATTLE SCARRED}

{BATTLE SCARRED}
THE SOUND... THIS PIECE WAS WRITTEN TO THIS MUSIC...
http://youtu.be/SQVxurGBCN8

These drums threaten to tear me apart... Beatdown... beatdown...
These drums bang bout my predecessors... Beatdown... beatdown and I the sound rage.
A dance in the firelight... Sparks into a darkened sky.
The screams and the laughter these drums they pound... Battlescar's I bear well...
Been locked away in a white mans jailcell facing three life.
Done seen man become wife.
Done seen skin dance from the penetration of hot lead.
Done witnessed adulation... Done lived dispair... Down there... Down there.
Beatdown... Beatdown and I raise my bald head and bob and weave.
Becoming what I need to be... Leader of the Krall... Nightmare in 3d.
A savage flesh consuming beast or a great orator... Gentle or buck ass wild.
These drums tearing at the fabric of this existence reshaping and remolding my structure.
I a flash of brightest light.
The curse or the cure according to which way you look... What yo view is...
I a force of great renown if only in my own mind... Eye see a way outta this see?
These drums... My mentality.. The varying degrees... The thrust... The parry... The thrust.
The body dropping to the ground.
The mind blown out.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{THE NAKED VARIATIONS OF YOUR NUBIANITY} AN EXHIBIT

{PLAIN AND SIMPLE} BABY I'M TALKING TO YOU

{PLAIN AND SIMPLE} BABY I'M TALKING TO YOU
FIRST OF ALL THESE PIECE WAS WRITTEN TO ACCOMMODATE A PICTURE THAT A DEAR FRIEND AND READER SENT ME. HER NAME IS LUCINA QUASHIE AND I COULDN'T USE IT HERE SO YOU HAVE TO GO TO BLOGSPOT TO SEE THE ORIGINAL PIC...
ALLRIGHTY THEN, THE MUSIC...


I lost in the what I would do to you... The wherewithall of the situation...
Baby you got my nerves jingling... Feels like butterfly wings caressing my skin...
I falling into and out of your eyes and the brown variations of your skin...
The blacks and pinks of you.
I gotta getmesome of you, so imperative that it pounds... it pounds.
I hang heavy thinking of you.
My brain and my manhood...
A most beautiful and funktabulous thang to behold... somma dat holy queen scroll cause that's where I see you as you naked and full undulate for me.
I being born to appreciate the exact nature of you... your particular personality... You in your thin and your thickness.
The scroll on your belly.
A white dove released into my atmospheres taking wing and flying out of sight...
I smell of thine pheromone's across all these miles and I just want to see... I gotta see.
Need so deep I feel it in my tiniest bone... deep in my love jones.
When you lick your lips I ache cause I wanna taste your tongue... Every single time.
A riddle, a rhyme, the enigma...
Such a savage conundrum as it plays out time and time again in so many different ways... we naked and exposed.
I wanting you and you wanting me while love calls our names and we touch each other trying to find relief...
Some release.
My hands entwined in your natural hair and trying to get you to see the me in my eyes.
The absolute dothedo.
The black of my blue..,
I will have you.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{THE DOOR, THE KEY, YOU AND ME}

{THE DOOR, THE KEY, YOU AND ME}
THE MUSIC...
http://youtu.be/MkbdOZHfIbI

In these letters would I break into a million trillion glistening pieces that would caress you as a fine dew...
Fall upon your melanated skin as a fine mist... Cover you in my fog.
Sink into your structure and rearrange you from the inside out as I pour down as black love pon thy Oh my African queen.
Tingle the follicles that produce thine nappy roots... I a traveler would chart thy spirals and lay waste to any that stood in our way.
In these times where men are content that you are held in contempt I alone would face the hate that produced such hate...
Becoming the thump that is the sound of our hearts strong.
The bump that nudges us along.
In these letters would I rain down like napalm and set sticky fire to any that would defile thee.
Your form my catalyst... I born in thine spark.
A lone form dancing in the light of the revelations that thou hast brought forth from my aching...
From the pain of learning that once we knew these things...
You the image sculpted from the clay of a riverbank in Kenya.
Rib of my rib... The cartilage in my backbone.
The surety in my footfalls.
In these letters would I paint thy picture and display it in a museum as the model for all female hue-mans...
Walk children past it and watch their little chests swell with pride as they realize that they have the same brown eyes and the same darkened flesh.
Tell stories of us rising from the depths of mental slavery and materialistic pride...
In these letters would I speak of our connection to the cosmos and the time continuum...
How we finally regained our ability to cross dimensions...
Lost in a moment of love so great that a man gave up heaven for his empress...
They becoming mortal after eons of living eye-ternal
In these letters would I die content upon knowing that thou had read them and overstood how much I loved thee.
A letter...
A paragraph...
A possibility...
The key.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY