to remember all my brothers

To remember all my brothers

Wish we were joined at the hip

We had to scream out “master” because we were scared of the whip

When Kunta lost his foot because he just wouldn’t submit

Calling out to mother Africa in a pure frantic fit

450 years we suffered

So if I may be blunt

We told them we needed history

They gave us the shortest month

Well no, I won’t forget now

All the things they may have past

Our mothers, our sister

Raped and over pasted

“I have been to the Mountain top

I seen the promised land”

I even took a long fine sip from the purest of black hands

Still I sit and wonder, as I cannot comprehend

All the torture, all the misshapes

They just couldn’t understand

My color dark and sweet

Yes the countries we have paved

You can take our body

Our soles will never be your slaves

So no we have no anomies

We forgave as we have fought

But in 450 years there’s not a thing we have forgot