i am aauuummmm
a mantra guiding you home
like lyrical ganja
the mere sound of my words
gives your mind a contact high
i enter your head through the side door
like the art of war
practicing verbal voodoo
performing lyrical rituals to purify
your mind of thoughts that confine
my words of power intoxicate you
i pour libation with absolute truth
while navigating dis course
through turbulent brain waves
liberating fettered souls from shipwrecked egos
what you hear before you is not a poet
when i chant
the word of god possesses me
moving my energy to spark reality
with electrical clarity
no solamente soy bilingue
i speak in tongues...
© Men Maā Aim Rā
5% knowledge is a dangerous thing
even though knowledge is born
be aware of crib death aka s.i.d.s.
spiritually ignorant defining society
seems to be a mental monopoly these days
people in a monetary haze
chasing dollar bills that’s worthless
play money since 1964
are your really sure
what’s behind your destiny’s door
are you just keeping it real
a real reality check is more
than looking at cause and effect
on the phenomenal plane
you must be insane
you never thought to inspect the deck
dealt 500 years ago
ancestors shed divine tears
when sisters walk in fear of their brothers
hip-hop’s sons and daughters
orphaned lyrical hustlers
playing hard rejecting god
accept when they win an award
really can’t afford what they buy
managers and agents really lie
hip-hop moguls really try
to pay for their sins
with bankrupt souls
how much do you owe
tupac and biggie were the first to show
how to cash in and climb charts
with hearts permanently stained
blood soaked bullet lapel pins
mistaken for platinum badges of honor
now they reside six feet under
heads ponder while they wander
what was really the deal
were they just keeping it real
like when soul food
became food for your soul
does your spirit know
soul food is for slaves
what are you eating
on your way to the grave
think you are in heaven
cause big mama sure can burn
development arrested
you haven’t learned
it’s raining revolution
spiritual solution for mental pollution
you remain bone dry
under the confines of society’s
twisted reality canopy
don’t just feel me
hear me
be able to see
your keeping it real mentality lies
cloaked in a masterful disguise
causing you to think you spiritual
when you merely speak of third eye
see
maya is the reality of the times
feeding your mind intellectual swine
can’t even read between the lines
if you were a musical group
you’d be called third eye blind...
© Men Maā Aim Rā
Listen up
class is in session
today’s lesson: new math
now every 1 knows
2+2 = 4
4+4 = 8
can you relate 2 a new school of thought
where politicians have been bought
3-5-7 are prime figures in the equation
2 many confused triggers using 357s
2 send 2 many black people 2 an early heaven
at the local 7/11 police spend 2 little time
buying doughnuts & coffee &
2 much time trying 2 put doughnut holes
in me
i remember when trouble makers
were sat at the back of the class
the teacher could effectively ignore us
now police commissioners & local mayors
make me stare & wonder why
i always seem 2 be on the frontline
with my brother stevie
blinded by smoke of rapid fire
police brutality
new math has the same old face
black education boards have been erased
replaced with sub committees of white cops
with black glocks
drawing white chalk
on black tops
on black blocks
where black shots
kill more blacks
than white rocks...
© Men Maā Aim Rā
black orchid
you are my only flower
your alluring name carries weight
burdens of ancestors past and great
for now may i simply identify you as auset
you make me wet with the nurturing means
to support you and your delicate fruit
walnut coconut coffee bean
cashew pecan almond cream
the nature of your color scheme
your roots are twisted and locked
deep inside my earth
planting seeds to remind me
remember your deeds
remember your needs
remember your desires
your ways of reaching higher
into the essence of our being together
black orchid
as you grow i become humble
in the shadow of the tower of your power
(when the moment dictates)
my exquisite black flower
know the gentle flow of your petals’ rain
washes clean hesitation and pain
know the healing energy of your laughter
more than enough to supplant
natural disasters or unnatural weeds
that might feed off your sacred space
is there a place for me
in your garden...
© Men Maā Aim Rā
and god
looked upon the world she had created
and saw it was lifeless
and god saw the people standing around
and the people were still
and the people made not a sound
so god said
let there be horns of plenty
and satchmo was born
and satchmo smiled upon the people
and served them a creole supper
seasoned with his new orleans flavor
and dizzy was born
and dizzy twirled the motionless people
around and around and around
with his be-bop sounds
and bird was born
and bird swooped down
upon the people
and carried them away on his
be-bop wings
and miles was born
and for miles
and for miles
the people walked
to hear his magical swings
and trane was born
and trane transported the people
on his winding trane-tracks
across borders to a meditative state
and the people felt the trane's vibration
om om om
and the people became one
and god said...
© Men Maā Aim Rā
(between 12 & 3 pm)
a white canvas stands before me
staring in fear
it knows it cannot withstand
the sharpness of my brush
and it has no defense
against my justified advancements
retaliation is futile
because my studio is high up in a tree house
(5 floors from the top)
enabling me to perform my duties unobstructed
the legs supporting canvases
of this kind
are still too young
to make the climb
spear in hand
i sketch out pleas for mercy
(wrong floor you want the fourth)
and apologies for atrocities
made against my fellow hue men
i have been working at my craft
since the cosmic constitution was first created
so my ears are not tuned to the vibrations
of its colorless speech
i continue my work
with the light of the son directing
i begin mixing colors
blood red with a splash of purple
and prepare for my second assault
against the seemingly innocent surface
contact produces a deeply colorful wound
11 inches in length
the canvas cries out in pain
astounded by my supernatural strength
the resulting scar a prelude
to imminent defeat executed
by hands of a
martial
artist
© Men Maā Aim Rā