Don’t tell me!
You fell and cracked
Your thinking seed
Bumped it on a sack of weed
Pleeease tell me!
You smell me because
Who give a damn
What anybody say
You cant treat Akua that way.
Apologize.
A communist a revolutionary
African Internationalist
President chairman CEO
To the Nth ultra-epitome.
Surrounded by too many
Sycophants and appointees
Advanced by co-optation,
Jabbering jaybirds
Directed on orchestration.
Too full of yourself,
You must never ever
Be but first a man
As true as ever you can.
Man-to-man even if
Not at this time face-to-face
There’s a time and a place
For everything. Everything
In its time, and every
Nigger in his place.
Face up to the fact
That criticizing Akua
Aint black. Else YOU aint
‘Bout it on the Freedom
Tip. May the masses
Never shoulder that chip. Aint
Dedan Kimathi’s UHURU!
Assata Shakur, Harriet Tubman,
Yaa Asantewa, Nzinga.
Akua. Put some
Shoes on your feet
Go on the street.
Better ask somebody.
Do you need to hear
Her story? Maybe you forgot
The beating steel within her heart
Her pounding breast like a drum
On that night when po-po come.
Chairman Fred beside her in the bed
Riddled with bullets, still
Not dead. Drugged, and dragged
In a pool of blood so that
Po-po could put one in his head.
Her nite, eight months heavy
With the unborn baby Fred.
Now twice betrayed? Soul’d out
By renegade McDavis and crew
Y’all dog in Philly to avenge her
Honor and redeem Uhuru.
Brotha broke off a good piece of
Those renegades. Now you?
Slandering the great Akua?
Et tu, my brother? Et tu!
Eat your words, heard/
Swallow them whole
The entire foul fenestration
That poured from your soul.
Apologize.
Not a self-criticism
No summation.
Those things it cannot be:
Merely, simply an apology.
Don’t even make it revolutionary
Because if you do it right
Then it will be.
Feel me.
Heal the hurt and the pain
That you inflicted upon that
Woman, from your swollen brain.
Don’t leave that funk between
Uhuru and the great Akua.
Long live Akua!
And Fred Hampton Jr.!
