I Dream of Kings

I Dream of Kings

“We must learn to live together as brothers or we will perish together as fools.” -Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Today, the greatest threat to the realization of MLK’s famous dream is an ignorant and underachieving black community. Dr. King’s dream will remain but a most noble dream for as long as there remains a single black boy in America’s streets who values a pair of sneakers above the life of his schoolmate, as long as there remains a group of black young men who pledge their allegiance to a particular color and willfully perpetuate murder, rape and other ills against their own people of color, as long as there remain more black men who excel in the streets than on Wall Street, as long as the state of black motherhood remains “single and supported”, as long as the most talented black writers remain songwriters and not published authors and historians, as long as the most esteemed black orators remain in studios and not in classrooms, as long as the most visible black men remain actors and not activists, as long as the most celebrated black women remain in music videos and not in instructional videos, as long as the black man perceives the epitome of his achievement in the land of opportunity as becoming a Dr. without the King. So you see, the greatest roadblock to the ideals so excellently articulated in Dr. King’s timeless “I Have a Dream” speech is no longer an unjust white system in America slowly but surely losing its majority status and clutching desperately to its fading wheels, but rather, it is arguably the most intriguing and perplexing creature in all the earth – the very black man for whom Dr. King and countless others gave everything, the so-called American negro! In this being we find a man armed with a dream and infinite potential, a man who while still inhibited by prejudice of those who presume him less than he is worth, remains mostly limited by his own ineptitude at the realization of the greatest dream ever told! R.I.P. Dr. King. Until Kingdom Come we will fight to see your dream realized. Godspeed America.

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Perception Is Reality

Reality

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Immortal

Homecoming

 

“The man who chooses to not recognize his home is worse off than the man who has no home.” -kR

My life, your entertainment. No scratch that, I prefer the term infotainment. Mine is just the story of a little drummer boy marching to his own African beat; We Three Kings conspicuously on repeat, seeking to redeem the essence of my illustrious culture in the presence of naysayers who parade about me like a conniving vulture. Yo Kennyrich that shit you wrote was dope, but behind my back they sling my name around like I was dope! Or yay, but nay I say unto thee. Between me, myself and I, there’s already a crowd of three. So please depart from me before my political correctness falls apart. Otherwise (and that wouldn’t be wise), I’d be tempted to split you like the Red Sea and leave you as alive as the Dead Sea. You dare label me naturally violent when I choose to go on a rant, and yet somehow you expect me to be so tolerant of the rampant oppression of a God damned tyrant? Ah the audacity of the ones who’ve caused us such calamity never ceases to amaze me! What’s a month to our legacy? That’s heresy if you ask me; please don’t fall for that sort of fallacy! Oh Black People! My people – once noble moors, pharaohs of ages ago haplessly reduced into mere dominoes. Our history has been a diminishing domino effect, a hallucination of sorts, closely resembling the butterfly effect. It’s like we were the weed that was smoked but never inhaled, which might explain why in this day today there are brothers like me in jail still waiting to exhale. Now I’m no Moses but I ask you Sir – Mr. Joe Schmo – let my people go! We are salt of the earth and deserve to be exalted on higher ground, not shamefully and despicably buried underground. And our bite is louder than our bark, so for your sake please do release us while there’s still room on Noah’s Ark. My life, your entertainment. No scratch that, I prefer the term infotainment. Mine is just the story of an African King, who unlike Prince Hakeem, his Coming to America had nothing to do with finding his Cleopatra. But rather, who was forged in truth to crash the Board of Chess and clean up the foul mess; not to acquire fleeting fame but to remind the black pawns that they are indeed kings and queens, just caught up in the wrong damn game! I pray this message is entrenched deep within your dome; my brothers and sisters your Kingdom awaits, so please sing along with me, “I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world that I’m coming home. Let the rain wash away all the pains of yesterday. I know my Kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes. I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world that I’m coming home.”