Azrael's Whispers

Shame of Our Fathers

Their fathers claimed it was for freedom.
So, they went,
And died in their thousands.
There were no good homes...
And the good men were gone.
Cowards stayed behind
And brought up the little ones.

Now they're on the streets.
Little coloured kids.
No proper pasts,
And a seemingly bleak front.
The little bleached skins,
Sit in their tiny offices
And determine their fates.

They're pitted against society
And against their brothers.
And when one of 'em breaks free
They ostracism 'em.
Push them away.
Call them names
Like,
Posh, white-lover
Or worse.

They forget years of servitude
The years of whipping and scourge.
When they stood together as one.
In the cold,
I'm the Sun,
In the rain.
When the fields used their blood for manure...
Their sweat for water...
And the cattle young,
Their screams at night
As lullabies.

The marks on their backs have been forgotten
With time.
They have become lax
The masters let down their whips after all.
But look around you.
The boys become men
And little girls,
Women.

There's no place for childhood.
And they call it
"Life in 'da hood!"
Once the posterboys of servitude,
They're now the face of cruminalhood.
Turning killing to a profession
And moral decay
To the the new way.

They
Slowly and steadily
Have shrunk from the cores of the fathers,
And the teachings of their mothers.
Now,
They have embraced the path of the devil
Wasting away
With lead, women, powder and drink,
Themselves and each other.
The nights always young
Where ever they are
And another dead "bruh"?
They just shrug it off.
It's just another day in 'da hood.

They have been pushed to a side
By them who despise their skin.
To prevent uprising
They give you jobs and work with you
They'll shake your hands in public
But after,
They sanitize it
In the toilet.
They'll call you "nigga"
And do the bro shake
But when they get home,
The shirt you touched,
They'll burn it.

They come to our home,
The land of our birth.
They never see the beauty
Of our origins.
No...
All they care for is the strife
Which frankly,
To us alone, is not unique.
In fact, with their schemes and politics,
They engineer it more.
Adding fuel to the fire a that already burn.

But you sit in front of their box
And nod.
A loyal fool,
You agree when they say shit bout us.
Join them to spit on us.
You conveniently orget,
That we...
Are your people too.

They called us "coloured"
But they need the sun.
Now it's "African--"
But their civilisation
Was built on our ancestors backs.

But what do you do?
You stay still and take it.
The slight insults and looks of subtle disgust.
Then when a colourless man shoots a coloured nigga,
You take to the streets and protest en masse
Like that guy was sooo important.
You forget the little black kids
Who lost their dad,
Mom, or sibling
When you yourself,
Pulled a trigger.

You destroy each other and blame it on them
So they laugh because
In the end
They have the power.

We're the smartest and best,
But we're building their empires.
You think
Since they let you live amongst them
All is well?
Your kids are in their schools
And you eat their food.
You're blinded by their flash
And forget your roots.
Well those back home say,
"Sucks be to you too!"

But the home is no better.
Treating them like gods...
They who are from "abroad".
They give them seats of honour
Like they've actually
Done something.
But in actual fact,
Are just merely lucky.
'Tis no small issue
I tell you.

But as with all things,
Black sees no reason.
White still is prime.
Angels live in the North, East and West...
And demons come from the middle brother.