Resistance

Lift every voice

for there

has always

been a song,

A spirit

A drum

A clap

A hymn

to help us

along.

To freedom

from fields

the power that

blacks wield

is everlasting;

refuses to yield.

Power

not found

in brute force

but in soft strength

of an instrument

and a voice.

Power

not found

in killing

each other

but in making

a choice

to be better

for the next

so they can

be better than us.

We share

a sacred story,

a wound,

a language of trust.

Our rhythm

and blues

songs from me’s

to the you’s

leaving behind

breadcrumbs

and clues of what

we were actually

created to do.

Bend and defy

universal laws

by accepting,

transcending,

building upon

our flaws.

Still, a smile

despite some

crookedness

or some gap.

Still, a marathon

coming so far,

but so far to go,

hit another lap.

Pharaohs

to slaves

to Presidents.

We always rise again.

Blessings

upon you

my friend,

your family

and your kin.

We are the

Soulaan leaves

on a larger

family tree.

Leaves that still

find power

under oppressive

powers that be.

Leaves that grew

back stronger

after being

cut down,

burned,

raped,

hung,

shot,

drowned.

A population

of square pegs

refusing to

be round.

Freedom

only found

in facing

the fear.

Revelations

is near,

revelations is here.

However

history has

proven that

it is only

up from here.

Rise.

Create something

from nothing.

Alchemize.

Make love

from hate.

Celebrate.

Death isn’t the end,

it is only a gate.

Hair

Head

Heart

high to the sky.

We

will

make it

with or without

a who

what

when

where

how

and why.

Knowing

we won’t

walk the talk,

but baby we’ll fly.

Part ancestors dream

part Bebe’s kid,

an unwillingness to die

and to only ever

grow and multiply.