To Return to a Dream



Rewind back to a time...

Back to a time when things

Were slow and serene.

Back to a time when

I had a dream

Was more than a tweet...

It meant something.


Make no mistake-

This serenity of which I speak doesn't encompass the vigor -

The fight that comes with the message,

But is representative of the pace of life

That surrounded the struggle to obtain the blessing.


People of color

Willing to take a stand,

Side by side, clutching

One another’s hands,

Even though our feet

And backs ache from upholding the land.


But I have a dream.


More than just a

Landmark in history,

But part of the everyday

Justice we should see.

Who said the civil

Rights movement was over?

Check the textbooks,

You'll find it under the '60s.


Cell phones, tablets, computer technology,

As much as we love it,

It’s a bit of a problem, see,

Because we don’t feel anymore.

Consumption, consumption, consumption,

Yet no digestion.

We sympathize in the moment,

Then like bananas, we split in a quick second…

Or we slip from the quick second...

And now we trip in a quick second,

Because we can rant on Facebook about injustice for a week,

And then hashtag “twerkin’” becomes the topic to beat.


In a sense we’ve lost our passion,

Yet continued our struggle.

It’s not all our fault, though,

We’re being burst by the bubble.


The enclosure, the tight squeeze

Of the corrupt-us system.

'Cause no justice is the justice

That closes our schools, breaks down our faculty in favor of more administration,

Promoting the students in magnets or privates to form a new generation of segregation,

Bottlenecking the possibility of higher education,

Forcing the rest into a 50/50 chance of incarceration after high school.

Making colored youth potential limited to the ability to say words to a rhythm,

Place a sphere in a hole,

Or be bound to what jobs

Have been deemed low, mindless,

And unworthy.


The cliché may be old,

It’s still a little too familiar?


We know but we don't realize,

How our minds are bound

To the prostitution

Of a misguided society.

Exploited for what's most

Valuable to us.

Potential and identity.


Psychological disruption and oppression...

To say we get OUR subset of t.v. channels,

OUR one month or few days of the year

To love and express ourselves,

To remember Caesar Chavez and Dr. King on B.E.T.

Yet then watch a music video

Of a black or latino sister shakin' something.

To put emphasis on these days,

These shows, these minutes of the year,

As ours,

Is to express subtly that our significance is as high as the frequency of a leap year.


We get upset because our community isn’t heard,

But when our community communicates,

We identify with the N word.


Was this the dream?


The signs that posted colored

Weren't meant for us.

The buildings labeled “for colored”

Weren’t meant for us.

The seats brandished “for colored”

Weren’t meant for us.

As far as I remember,

Black is the absence of color,

So, at the time,

Who should’ve really been

Under those signs?


Wage war against whiteness, not white people,

I believe we should desire to stand up

For the right people:
Oppressed, burdened, the weak, the meek,

And less fortunate.


So let us refrain from the distractions for a moment.

Come down and supply needs,

Instead of liking some selfies.

Leave the virtual for a second,

To redeem our reality.


Because if you will believe,

One man’s dream will be seen.



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