Notes of a 63rd Century Afrakan Spiritual
Warrior
Scribe Living in America
I speak only the truth before my sacred and great Spiritual Ancestors.
The Afrakan suicide tendencies are so enormous, so addictive at this point in Ourstory that millions of Afrakans are already dead before they die.
Their madness caused by Kultural homicide, makes the killer disease AIDS seem like an appetizer for genocide.
We have become the walking murdered, as we chain our babies to western ignorance as human sacrifices.
Afrakan youth disconnected and disjointed from the spirit of their Afrakan Divine ancestral roots.
Young boys bopping to the sounds of madness, with there pants hanging off.
Could be beautiful sisters disguising themselves in white dreams.
Black men roaming the streets in packs, jobless and unemployable, with the blues written on their faces.
Black women in training to be white men, imitating white women in training to be white men, and these so called white men are imitating the very worst of the human soul, as they wage war against nature and all life as we know it!
Black executives sip champagne after a hard day's work of European-American prostitution.
Black Mayors and puppet, I mean public government officials guided and mentored by western pimps, inherit cesspools, and unanswered dreams.
Confused, Kulturally retarded parents lead their children off to slaughterhouses in the name of education.
Black economics in America has evaporated with white carnation milk around the lips of black sambos or exploded like the white destruction of Black Wall Street.
Poor children are dying or being killed before they know what life is or what it has to offer!
Mean while their parents knees hurt from praying to the same alien gods of their oppressors, and they still haven figured out why the oppression hasn't stopped.
We are in the middle of a Kultural - economic war with no offence.
Afrakans have been hypnotized and drugged white in deathly happiness and reprogrammed in white destructive desires.
Even Stevie Wonder can see where home is, but we can't even recognize our home, our Kulture, our language, or our ancestor spirits dancing all-round us.
We can't hear the sacred drums, because of cell phones and ipods and insanity
Are you getting hot, can you feel the heat from this poem?
Do you feel the urgency behind this poem?
Is it getting warm?
Are you mad?
Are you ready to turn over?
Because millions of us are already in the oven,
Being baked well done, glowing in our blackness, with forks in our hands.
Smiling
WITH NO IDEA, WE ARE BEING SERVED
By Mfundishi Jhutyms Hassan Salim
