{THE SAD REALITY OF THE BEING ME AND THESE THINGS I SEE}
THE SOUND LAID OUT... YOU REALLY NEED TO LISTEN...
http://youtu.be/lYLx78DG0vQ


And I broke down and cried...
I cried for all the fucked up shit that I have done.
For the time I missed away from my babies cause I didn't want them to see the pain in my soul.
It now seems so selfish in retrospect.
I cried for my son who died in his sleep, last time I touched him he was so cold.
For the ones forgotten as we integrated and found false freedom which we would defend with our lives.
Pledging allegiance to a red, white and blue rag which has flown over every tragedy committed against our kind.
I cried and the tears hot ran down my wrinkles as I felt my soul torn from its foundations,
I thinking of preachers and teachers, priests and Rabbies spitting false rhetoric to the masses who just need something to believe in.
They giving money to God when children next door are starving, when pregnant mothers got to walk to church.
When there still exists ghetto.
I cried and my skies cloudy fell as rain on a parched desert floor, soaked in and caused flowers fragrant to grow.

They in turn gave pollen to the bees which made honey sweet for the masses to eat, manna from the heights of my being if only one would listen to my heartwrenching sobs.

The wail emanating from my very core.

Such a heavy weight knowing is when you walk among the deaf, dumb and docile... So many signs and cornerstones... Only one level and square.

Sadly the lion walks alone even though other lions inhabit the jungles of Babylon...

Sad is the reality of the consumer... Dirty Diva's and Young Thugs.

I feel to my knees and cried.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF FEELING YOU}
THE SOUND...SO FUNKY YO ASS BETTA LISTEN...
http://youtu.be/8-tGMYALKpo

She causeth I to salivate salaciously.
Oh my, I say exclamatoriously...
Out here where I can invent words and be the poet I was meant to be.
She is the black queen that drives my kingly and I in her honor and for her honor would crush a Billion regimes, fight a trillion raging beasts, bring tricknowledge to its bended knees and put a bullet in its head.
I be that dedicated to who you are.
What you represent.
Some of that primitive drum drop, see?
I thumps these keys and bumps these keys trying to get the people to dance round the freedom fire burning in mine blackened soul.
Your skin containing the nectar I, nay we need to survive.
The potion to cure the curse.
The elixer that would causeth I, nay we,  to be God and Earth.
Sun and moon.
The uni-vers- all.
My mind drools in pools of loving you to much to let go of that dream.
That all consuming thought that in space would be the anti-matter holding matter in place, in Asian philosophy the Yin and Yang.
Ancient times Isis and Osirus.
I slobbing at the thought of what we the prototypical could be, see?
Whew weee and you all brown, black and pecan tan have the become the land that accepts the caresses of my blackest seas.
For you I would funk a revolution...
Jimi Hendrix this shit...
Marvin Gaye smooth this shit...
Afrika Bambatta bump bang boogie this shit.
Black woman you make me have to use this paper as a towel to soak up the ink I'm slobbering in your honor.
All I ask is that you see...
See?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{CLARIFICATION}

{CLARIFICATION} 
THE SOUND OF CLARITY... THE BEAT...
http://youtu.be/0FZU-u23cnQ

There is no need to wonder from whence I come.
I come from the utter despair of a people who think that they originated in the belly of the beast that traveled the Atlantic seas.
I come from niggas who hung from oak trees and mammies who took care of little white babies who in turn grew up to commit other tragedies.
I come from a system that even today is a double standard and a people who forget until it happens again.
I come from the all of it and am the voice that is tired of it all.
I am the black man, the original man and the antitypical man.
I am the hue-man.
Hear my roar as it echoes across the cosmos and careens off of other planets eventually becoming the cosmic wind of change.
The force of I as I impact and become the one celled floating in a puddle of water.
The guerilla warrior fighting to free mentalities.
I come from some of that Tyler Perry and Spike lee nonsense, some of that Opra, Good Times praying to a white Jesus in a white mans ghetto created to keep niggas begging him on their knees to free em from the him that shot the young brother Micheal Brown down in cold blood.
From the black jurors who let a murderer go.
I am the woe and desperation, I am the mother who jumped off the slaveship and was eaten by sharks.
The boy who watched his father go to prison for trying to put food on the table in a system of unequal.
I am his seed as it pours hot and thick into a womb, fertilizing an egg and born covered in blood into a hard ass world.
There is no need to wonder from whence I come.
I just told yo ass.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(WETTA)
THE FLUID SOUND...

I seek to make you wetta than you have ever been.
Sweat, pussy juice and tears of unbridled joy.
I seek to release the inner you that no one sees as you walk around looking all prim and proper.
The one that screams my name as your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl.
The one that scratches the skin of my back leaving a savage tattoo.
A moment as I dig my fingers into your scalp and pull you hard onto my dick.
As I stretch the walls and pound at the back of your womb.
As I bury my face in your neck and sniff of your scent.
A moment as I feel you release on my dick and it flows down over my balls and dribbles to the sheets.
I still such a big booty loving, pussy licking beast.
I still the king of the jungle.
I suspended in the drops that listen on your quivering skin and drunk on your sound.
The slap slap as we beat the ancient beat.
As you grip me with your fingers, as you grip me with the petals of your lotus.
The lily that floats on serene waters and dances in the ripples elicited by the storms wind.
My mouth finding your nipples sucks and nibbles.
I tasting of your salt, a necessary part of life.
My seed boiling in the depths rages to be freed.
I hold back.
I my dear seek to make you wetta.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(OF DARKNESS AND LIGHT)
THE SOUND OF REALIZATION...
http://youtu.be/xGdSSSmdakk

Man conceived is born of darkness and light, two natures that war constantly.
Upon his entry into the light from the dark he screams his frustration and they the people celebrate.
He who found comfort in the darkness opens his eyes and the light reveals so much.
Sight, smell and sound.
It seems overwhelming, so much to digest.
It is in the light that man learns that darkness has stages and that he man derived from them.
That they exist in he and every other sentient being.
Man sets out to control his duality, the light against the darkness and the war wages unabated in his soul.
It shines through stained glass windows on Sundays and makes him cover his head at night.
The light, the dark that he sees shining in every man.
Man standing on street corner sees these things as the wind flutters the spun thread he wears, as it ripples through the branches of trees and the leaves fall, as man dying re-enters the darkness and the people wail.
Man of darkness, man of light.
Man existing in both worlds looks at the people as the scurry by, as they seek light without overstanding the simplest thing.
That light and darkness are one.
That without the other both could not exist.
That man existing religious cannot touch spirituality for spirituality embraces the whole.
The utter duality.
Man pulls his hat down and shades his eyes in darkness as he confronts the light.
Man overstanding walks in both.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(A QUEENS PLACE)
THE SOUND...

Would you stand with me?
I mean would you place your back against mine and go toe to toe with the world for me?
Be my queen?
So many potential Nefertiti's, Isis's and Nandi's lost to materialism and class.
Lost to Brazilian weaves and million dollar dreams when their very skin color is rich.
Like chocolate and expresso.
When the enemy comes to claim our child and leads him or her away to be indoctrinated will you see the futility... The utter insanity?
When they put a portrait of a white man in his face at church or on the t.v. will you tell our baby the truth?
Will you tell my son to be warrior and my daughter to be the daughter of a warrior... The wife of a warrior, the mother of a warrior?
Independent cause her man is independent.
We conquered and divided in a strange land where the children have the power.
A finger on the cellphone pad.
Dialing 911 till the police come and take parents away.
Take the child and make him hate himself or herself as images flash cross the screen.
Grimacing gold teeth and thot... Guns and another nigga slain by the ignorance rapped staccato.
If I put a ring on your finger and a pistol on your hand would you be ready to fight for ours?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(A KIND OF MAN)
THE SOUND OF THE BLADE SWISHING AND THE BULLET WHINING...

And kind of man standing began to flex his muscle, exert control over other men while taking away individuality.
Oh how the masses became so weak that they fought for the man who was royalty when in fact all his power was theirs.
They tricked became whores to the system, fucked at birth, fucked in the schools, fucked in the courtroom as the judges and lawyers enjoyed the orgy.
They let him sell them thinly veiled stories and straight Saddam Hussein, Ben Laden lies, royalty creating conflict and destroying lives.
Only enough ZMAPP for the white folks... Ha Ha motherfucker that's the joke.
Such a story of misplaced trust as the religious have become the gears and cogs of the machine.
Grinding, growing old and being replaced.
Same headline as yesterday.
Black Man Killed By the Police, Black Man Killed By a Black Man,
Black Man Killed By His Education.
Taught that to be equal he got to be the equal of a white man when the very thought of that is hypocrisy...
What fool wants to be the beast?
So much blood on his hands as he cannabalistic swallows the very soul of who we once were.
Way before slavery, segregation and the penitentiary...
Way before black men were called the disease.
Man standing stretched and flexed a bicep.
Looked at his wrist and saw the scars of the chains, of the shackles that he had shattered with the power of his mind.
No king, no ruler and no bounds.
Let there be light.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY