Who is going To cry To the Point of Permanent Correction for-
“The Young Zulu King’s”
Sometime in the confines of my maternal and female mind
I find myself standing in a hollowed stillness as appose to incline
As I cry
For the African American male
That he would Hale Supreme
By not falling into the decree
of…..”A Dying Breed”
For his seed, is a seed lathered in Royal Majesty
Now, that is what his story really reads
Yes, viewers he sees
And is fully aware
That he MUST lead
Although forever prevalent
In gulfed in a populace with skewed views of him as a -blaspheme
In that instance, he has no fair
I make no apology as I declare
He is being robbed daily of the original origin of his pedigree
Yet, I cry aloud and silently
As I wipe my tears
I am proud of my Mandingo Warrior’s original notoriety
In my esteemed philosophy
The Zulu Kings Intellect
Should never be of, no surprise to society
For, this male generation and generations to come
Can rain supreme without isolation
Within the lines of their hands is not
Crime, murder, and incarceration
I say that with pride from the gisum of his loins
Minus any form of anxiety or propriety
The Zulu King has an honorable forever presence in society
With that said, stop lying to them and me
We’re Taking Our Kings Back That Way We Will Make More Babies
By: Lailah Ameerah Muwwakkil (you must have written permission from the author to forward, copy, duplicate, cut, paste, edit, sale, and/or distribute) ©p Tuesday, September 13, 2011
They Paved the Academic Way , Black History
To the mercies of this world
We bid our creed
Far beyond February being, “Black History”
That our children may
Commune with prosperities-beat
We, their ancestors fought
Like drums repeat
All the daylong
That they, future generations
May supersede
Like free-birds mounting
Upon a saddles beak
For slavery’s pain
Like a crimson tide,
Crept ashore unwelcomed at our road side
Off yonder’ bye-and-bye
Please accredit your present day abilities to our long-legged strides
With corns, calluses, tares, and thistles
We cried in anguish so that you
Freeborn,
Would not be like us, Your forefathers
Targeted missiles
Due primarily in part to masters
Loaded race based pistols
Although the grass blows
At the winds hissel
Know that, “FREEDOM”
Is a constant tune
You, “This Present Day Generation,”
MUST continuously whistle
Just as sure as bees burst
At pollens gristle
The pain from slaveries oozing segregation
Is being felt long…after
The hate corroded
From their supremacy-shovel-lynched ripple
Our, “Children of African Descent,”
Nursing upon mommy’s nipple,
Don’t you dare repent about your cultural breed
Nor are you to let the words, “the academically underachieved,”
Become a slogan engrained in your memory
As you, earnestly believe while applying paper to pencil
Take notation of our deliverables
Don't cry, dry your eyes
Hold your heads up high
Sit in the front of the class
Don’t let their evil thoughts make you sad
This is why what we endured is not to ever be a viewed as a thing of the past
Just as sure, as hate and violence have their own crash
Do not clown around raise your hands
Ask plenty of questions
In class
No, you must not frown you’re not trash
Get As/Bs while allowing
Intellect to be
Your tear-water-filled-glass
As you let your brain
Be the absorbent
For your anguished sniffles
Now, ride high upon
Your academic panicle
By: Lailah Ameerah Muwwakkil
Tuesday, February 15, 2011 @ 8:53 p.m.
In Love, Honor, and Respect
To Those Who Bled, Were Hung, Raped, Lynched, and Left To Die
In an Effort for Us to Have A Better Way
You must have written permission from the author to forward, copy, duplicate, cut, paste, edit, sale, and/or distribute
Academic Irruption
Coming from a fetus deemed by some to be one of nothingness yet, in the core for my loins, I still must advocate in a nation designed according to some, to assassinate
As appose to educate
Reinvigorate your true selves regardless of what you hear and see
Like unopened books on shelves
You still have abilities far reaching beyond the sea
In the still of the night little ones, I hear your voices callin’ out to me
Beckoning my presence
Acquiescence of wrong, is still displeasing
As I stand and speak or sit silently, still
While taking notes
Smile,
You know the drill
Little ones, the power of your will
Has enveloped my entire soul
In ways you will never no
I’m begging you not to allow the gutterness
To interrupt your flow
Although it lurks all around
Without making single solitary sound
Like cracks in the ground
That shatters instantly
At the command of a large quake
It, nothingness, mustn’t define your meaning
For goodness sake
Morsels and crumbs
Ratted attire and slum
Is not all that you can become
Some say, “Sit like a mute or better yet, be docile”
Yet, I stand solidly strong all the while
Speaking for the youth of our yester years, our now, and our years to come
I impede you to run like the hungry toward sugarplums
To, your destiny, it is awaiting to be consumed
Eat it up with enjoyment
Its an academic irruption
regardless of the number of
Attendees who have gathered and prepared
These gentle baskets
Woven in tears and love for you
Black Parallel School Board
Advocating night and day for you
The clue to your academic hierarchy and the reduction of incarceration and poverty
Will come with the deletion of separatism
Not,
In the mean time,
If you would be so inclined to
Beckon others attention
By leaving them in ah… and amazement
By your academic transitions
I already know you are on a mission
If others would simply
Stop
Sit up
And, pay attention
To all of your mental abilities
Imagine how far along
Our society would truly be
All I want
Is for you to educate me
The little ones
Depicted as vagabonds by some in society
To us
You are worthy of
Summa Cum Laude
For your mental magnitude
Far exceeds what some
Think they see
Were rooting
With fist held high
For you, our babies
An academic
Irruption
In the mist of mis-educated corruption
By: Lailah Ameerah Muwwakkil
©, 2009 at 7:25 PM
You must have written permission from the author to forward, copy, duplicate, edit, cut, paste, sell, and, or distribute