(SONSHINE)

And we my people will survive... We the progeny of such a great race... Here we find ourselves in such sordid times... In the face of pestilence and famine... In the face of oppression and plague... We have lived through so much attempted genocide... We the survivors hardened in the ghettos, in the prisons... Fences existing without walls, without wire... Subconscious and literal... We the progeny of such a great race... Our ancestors wildest dreams... Babies cut from wombs and made into a new being... Niggas will certainly become gods... One day... We who have seen the worst of everything... White Jesus hanging on the wall looking on... A cross burning pon a black yard... Such a savagely poetic image ingrained as the blood cries from the very earth we walk on... We the progeny... Such a great race.

(HYPERTHETICAL) 

It's been so long since I've talked to you... Been thinking bout you everyday.

You so succulent that you blows my mind... Mmmm... I, whew. I.

So long since I've felt your touch... Fingertips massaging my mind... Damn girl.

I feel you plucking on the strings of my thumping heart... The hardest spot on my titanium core... No one. No one entering but you... Such a tantalizing aroma... You fuck me up.

Such a tragedy that you only exist hypothetical... A figment of my imagination... A whisp of a vision.

I would give this my soul to have you alive... No lie.

JERALD hamzahfaruq.jm@gmail.com MURPHY

(SPINDERFELLA)

What if?

What if all these people overstood that we were meant to be free... Some of that pure spirituality that you see in a babies eyes... What if? And life goes on unabated... So many lost in granduer... So many chasing it... Some run under by it as the world progressively moves on.

The needs of the many driven by created need.

What if?

I take a puff of the blunt, the smoke I exhale dissipating into the atmosphere... Layers upon layers... Levels upon levels, we standing on squares.

So much beauty as man rushes along heedlessly... He never stoping to check his wake to see what he has wrought... All this damage... Collectively.

The earth cries out to a darkened sky... Casting it's reflective light into the universe.

A sigh...

What if.

JERALD hamzahfaruq.jm@gmail.com MURPHY

(WHO IS IT?)

I want to talk to you... Love been a mean motherfucker to me, done left me with the cover pulled over my head.

Imagine me, dreading another day.

Heart so empty I hear echoes everytime a bitch speak to me.

Love see?

So much promise and here lies love broken down and in agony.

I could a cried but all those tears would've watered was some foul ass seed.

I so low that worms could a pissed on me.

Walking among these people who my pain, my pain.

They could not see.

That was then this is now and love knocks on my door.

I wanna open it so bad.

I wanna open it so bad.

JERALD hamzahfaruq.jm@gmail.com MURPHY

(RESURRECTION)

I was black in the womb.

I'mma be even blacker in the tomb.

Ain't got time to be scared cause I dwell in the darkest of the dark.

That born at the hands of Allah that was dropped in mans formation.

That pure tribal drum get down... Beatdown and bass thunder cross these theoretical plains.

Kick in does and bust motherfuckers brains... Splatter on a white wall.

A moment in these halls where all the doors require keys.

Sign and cornerstones and degrees.

Indoctrinated masses falling to their knees.

Jaws dropped in awe at this universally divine verse-ology.

Created in amniotic Chambers than span hue-man existence.

God's and goddesses born of Sons and Earth's.

No time to be scared as the youth they get shot on streetcorners... As babies are murdered at the hands of perverts.

My people strangers in an even stranger land.

These lyrics called reverse racism as so many linger in man made prisons... Some mental some physical, a caring shame as men bow their heads to false kings.

Presidents, dictators and despots, prophecy foretold as the masses blind are led straight to the seven hells.

Darkness flipped to light and formulated to verbally synchopated words.

I existing black floating in the womb... I who pounds on the walls of this mentally fabricated tomb... I whom hast removed the proverbial capping stone.

I am, The resurrection.

JERALD hamzahfaruq.jm@gmail.com MURPHY

(NAVIGATIONAL)

I waan make you wetta... Wetta dan you ever been... A veritable ocean.

I sailing all on yo seas... the waves of yo undulating skin... Sipping of your salty waters... So inspiring the map carved into your skin.

I wanna make you shiver and shake... Scream my name... Ask me what I'm doing to you... Damn you taste great... Dribbling off my bearded chin... Yo ocean flowing and wetting the bed... Both my head's covered in your dew... My mind in beast mode... So fucked up on you.

Bounce that booty... Whew lawdddd... I just sprinkled a little bit... A lil skeet... Let me spank dat cheek... I Sinbad wanna plunder your treasure...

Wanna make you wetta dan you ever been...

I wanna sail yo ocean.

JERALD hamzahfaruq.jm@gmail.com MURPHY

(ONE DAY)

TOPIC SUGGESTED BY SHERINA

The slave toiling looked up at the sky and wished for something different.

The sun shining in blue sky testified as he labored.

It penetrated the layers of his mind and laid them open.

So much pain, so little joy 

He looked over and saw his woman.

She was bent over working heavy with child, she looked at him and smiled.

Six months pregnant, toiling for an uncaring man.

His heart weeped tears.

His child would be born a slave just like he and her 

Like all these others surrounding them.

The overseer on his steed riding in the midst of them.

The other slaves whispered of Christmas, of the grand party the master would give.

Dancing and liquor, some new rags to cover their backs.

The slave working pondered these things.

Last night he had learned a new word, racism.

It was so profound a revelation, that they had a word for this hell.

He had heard it from a traveling man. A former slave who had run away. He now lived on the fringes. He moved in the darkness spreading light to the slaves that would hear.

His words had penetrated the slaves heart.

This slave his name unimportant because he was one of many. Irrelevant or so it would be said in future times. Told in church he should be happy he was a slave, told he should serve his master humbly and happy.

The cotton reminding him that winter was near.

Cold days and freezing nights.

Into this his child would be born. Another slave added to Massas roll. 

He played these things in his minds as the day dragged along, the sun traveling much like the man, spreading light.

Eventually it began to sink in the western sky and the slaves climbed on wagons to be returned to the shanties that they called home.

When they arrived they were counted and turned loose to go to their homes. 

He took her hand and they walked to their shack. She so beautiful that his breath caught in his throat. He had to tell her, such the way of things 

He sat her down and told her of his dreams, no more slavery, freedom for their child. Her eyes wide as he laid these things before her. 

In the end he simply grew quiet, no more to say. They looking at the crackling fire.

The words coming from her mouth as whisper yet so loud. "I'm going with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"What about our child?"

"One day he will thank us."

He placed his hand on her stomach and she placed hers on his.

They stood up and began to pack their things.

A knock upon the door.

He opened it.

The traveler stood there.

It is time to go my son.

She walked out before him, he looked around and closed the door.

End scene.

JERALD hamzahfaruq.jm@gmail.com MURPHY