Thieves have broken into the house that Freedom bled for
None but ourselves can free our mines
Preachers have stolen the sacred shrine that Poets led from
None but our pens can free our lines
From mediocrity and the shallow puddles of self pity
The river of life is polluted and the wishing well is dried up
And children thirst for knowledge untarnished by experience
In times of corruption integrity is the first victim
In times of war truth is the sole refugee far beyond NATO’s reach
And we are Poetry’s step sisters and brothers in arms
slaves to the glistening promise
No more weary blues
of Langston Hughes and Negroes in vogue
Our sole mandate is for our poems to invoke
Another earnest quest from hearts for freedom
But when true Poetry has become a distanced relative
Who will heed the groaning of the cowhide drum?
Who will right the songs when the horns no longer hum
But bellow with an impotent yet begrudging tones of no better Blues?
Poet, Essayist, Black Consciousness Activist and Secretary of Slam Poetry Operations Team / Nowadays Poets.