Trance Formation

 

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

Real Illusions

 

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

Body Count

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

My Affection

 

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

Genesis: Part II

  

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

On a Tuesday Afternoon

(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

Kam Saia Publishing

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