The King was dead
You joined the adults
Cried your eyes out
Didn’t know exactly why
Only that something catastrophic had happened
Something that’d set your people back fifty years
You couldn’t even go out to play
Maybe not for the next fifty years
Buildings were on fire
Burn baby burn
It was like the Apocalypse
Like the end of time
Spoken about in church
The fire next time
Burn baby burn
Our Black prince
Had already been assassinated
Who was next
Panthers were hunted and killed
Right on our city streets
Brothers were being sent to Nam
To fight a war that made no sense
While there was Civil Unrest
Right on our city streets
Burn baby burn
Body bags
Were returning on planes
Along with pure heroin
Mothers aged overnight
Sobbed into folded flags
Kids shouted slogans
They didn’t understand
Ungawa
Black Power
Destroy
White boy
While Vietnam veterans
Nodded off into the night
To die
To sleep
Perchance to dream
Napalm burning them in their nightmares
Burn baby burn
Older bloods were disappearing
Later you’d learn
They’d been sent up the River
Into the heart of darkness
Their absence opened the Void
A Void so dark and so deep
Generations got lost
Some never returned
Others were still trying to return home
Bring the boys home
Bring them back alive
Bring the boys home
Bring them back alive
Black rage
White fright
Neon lights flashing
Flesh beckoning from street corners
Beautiful girls lost and turned out
Drug deals transacted on street corners
Three Card Monte con men
Hustling the larcenous
Even native New Yorkers
A sucker’s born every second
Battle lines had been drawn
But they were easy to cross
You could get lost
Between the moon and New York City
Between Brooklyn and 42nd Street
And never return home
Mind altering drugs
Misled you
Into believing that you were invincible
You dodged bullets
Or at least you thought so
Lived another day to tell your story
You refused to go to funerals
Faced death everyday
But wouldn’t look the Grim Reaper
In the eyes
When he/she was harmless
In a coffin
Ready to go six feet under
Let the dead bury the dead
You’d never die
You’d never be sent up the River
The cops would never catch you
You’d learned the secrets
Of being an Invisible Man
You disappeared into apartments
While they chased phantoms on roofs
In the streets
You’d grab a girl’s hand
Tell her the truth
That you were a wanted man
And she’d want to save you
She’d guide you right by the police
Right before their very eyes
In plain view
As they say
And you laughed
Because every day you cheated death
You lived another day to tell your story
As long as no one could see you
You were free
Everything was permitted
Just don’t get caught
Even in the asphalt jungle
There were rules
Silence was golden
Everything said
Could be used against you
Even your silence
Because no story is ever left untold
Cops are the best storytellers
Just give them something to work with
A snitch
A rat
A codefendant to turn state’s evidence
A perjurer
Thank God there was no electric chair
Prosecutors have no qualms
About sending innocent men to their death
As long as they get their convictions
Building blocks for their careers
It’s strange
But the guilty go free
While the innocent become disillusioned
Sometimes they escape state-sponsored death
You’ve trod the same path
As the bloods before you
Was sent up the River
Despite your belief to the contrary
Found all the older bloods
You thought were missing in action
One good thing
Since they’d paved the way
And because they were responsible
For the road you took
Because they didn’t leave a road map
And you fell into the Void
Belatedly they taught you
All you didn’t know
Almost everything you needed to know
To live
To be
To become a part of history
History was living
You were reading history
You were reading
Malcolm X’s autobiography
While his killer was a few cells away
It was strange
You hadn’t come into consciousness
When the Black Prince was assassinated
But you met his assassin
Looked him in the eyes
Didn’t see the Grim Reaper
But a disillusioned old man
Praying to the same god
In a different way
You watched him
Wondered why he’d really killed
Perhaps he even wondered why
You played prison football
With panthers
Who’d been set up by the FBI
Later you’d’ see them
Vindicated and rich
On talk shows
Traveling to Africa
Sometimes there is justice
Belatedly
After a terrible price has been paid
But your journey had just begun
You are a Black Boy
A Native Son
Living Sonny’s Blues
You Cry I am
A Man-child in the Promised Land
You came down Mean streets
Aware
You traveled
Met people with invaluable lessons to teach
You’re inspired
By that trinity of freedom fighters
Nat Turner
Gabriel Prosser
And Denmark Vesey
You become wise enough to know
That you can’t live in the past
Only learn from it
Even though it could be conjured up twenty years later
Be used against you
But it was unchanging
This you know
And you must move on
Even if others
Would hogtie you to the past
You do battle with demons
Not blond-haired blue-eyes devils
But your own heart of darkness
You fight to break the chains
Of your miseducation as a Negro
Of psychological chains and images
Of the new slavery
Repackaged as Corrections
You read the dictionary
From A to Z
Emulating Malcolm X
Read the Bible
From Genesis to Revelation
Looking for secrets
You think of the dead King
And those 8th century B.C. prophets he admired
Of his assassination
On a Southern terrace
Of your tears
Of not being able to go out and play
Of rioting in the streets
Of dancing in the streets
Of the Apocalypse
The fire next time
Burn baby burn
More than thirty years later
The ruins remain
War-ravaged urban areas forsaken
You wonder if there are new beginnings
If you’ll emerge from the darkness
Even recognize the light
You remember when the lights went out
Where were you
When the lights went out
In New York City
You were not afraid of the dark
You were bold
And only the bold ventured out into the night
And you were as bold as they came
If you were not afraid of the darkness
There was no reason to be afraid
Of anything
You learned that you could create yourself
Because you’d never been formed
The Void had only touched you
Not devoured you
Who you truly are
A Black Boy
A Native Son
Living Sonny’s Blues
You Cry I am
A Man-child in the Promised Land
You came down Mean Streets
Conscious
Aware
Your eyes are wide open
And no one
Absolutely no one
Can tell you lies
You found yourself in the blues
Cried out when you learned
Who you are
You didn’t boast
That you were a descendant
Of Kings and Queens
Because they’d been buried a long time ago
You know that as their blood weakened
Yours was infused with strength
The strength of survivors
There may be a drop of royal blood
Coursing through your veins
It had been spilt so many times
You doubted it
Need not take refuge in it
If it was there
Because the blood that coursed through you
Is the blood of survivors
You walk in the steps of your ancestors
Your hear their voices in your head
You will walk with this consciousness
This awareness
All the days of your life
Until you take your last breath
Someone will have to close your eyes
Because you’ll keep them wide open
Until you breathe your last breath
You’ll keep your eyes wide open
Until you breathe your last breath
Easy Waters 