(For The Afrikan Diaspora)

I believe in my heart
they will rise again like the golden sun
when life is given back to their minds
they will no longer apologize for being Black

Black as the nights that cover American inner city blocks
That are occupied by Afrika's Stolen daughters and sons
Who’ve lost their native tongue
And find fun in running through slums
Chasing crumbs
Watching friends die
As they try not to cry while asking themselves
How come

How come they are blind, deaf, and dumb

Four centuries removed from their home
Brought up in the ways of modern day Rome
Their history, their culture, their God is unknown
At least unknown to them
Something is missing
Some think they can find it in bottles of gin
As they try to blend with women and men
Who are nothing like them
They ridicule folks who try to unite them
When Black folks stand up
Negroes try 
to pipe them 

Down

because their spirits are numb
our talented tenth are clowns
claiming liberation will never be won
how can they say we’ve lost
when we’ve really never begun

hope
There seems to be none
But I have faith that we will rise once more
And again become
Noble Children of the Sun