Middle Passage (Epigrams)

We are braided tight in complete submission;
A plight plagued by the man’s crooked condition?

Its been four plus decades in the masters wrath;
It brought impotence to our own ancestors path.

We wonder why we simply can’t get along;
Because massa’ only taught us how to sing songs.

Petty envy and jealousy, man’s self-hate tools;
crabs in a barrel fight like ignorant fools.

Brainwashed brotha’s take millennia to cure,
while some brothas’ just happy doin’ jail-time tours.

Traditions drowned in mid-Atlantic slave boats;
black flesh in soiled rags on a ship with no coats.

One who holds his race and culture back.
Jeopardy’s retort, what’s an American Black?

Black-eyed peas, collard greens, a box of Jiffy Mix;
boost yo’ self-esteem, stop jonesin’ for a fix.

Uncle Sam, he'll do all the grocery shopping;
so stay home, make babies, watch stories, do mopping.

We kill for items God didn’t give a soul;
man, take this damn coat, crawl back in yo’ fuckin’ hole.

Gangstas, players, inner city houchee hoes;
Crack ma’s and dealer pa’s create juvenile woes.

Some families find refuge in lily-white burbs;
we label them sellouts, why are you so disturbed?

Grown men obsessed with where to put the dick.
Duped women, be selfish make him respect you shit.

Disease, guns, drugs are rites of passage today.
The master just called collect, tell me who’s gonna pay.

© Jy-Obadele