"The Procreation of Blak Joy"
acrylic on canvas
My assumption as to why america still hates us is black folks ability to educe joy from all things, synthesize the pain that was betrothed us by america, create beauty; then divorce ourselves from america's intent and still sing our song. We do and show it everyday. We shine on purpose, "we be" diligent in being dope. If the world could feel the weight of our history it could place carbon dust beneath its feet and give birth to diamond rainbows while dancing after the storm. Albeit some of us are still seeking the courage to create technicolor on this bloody blanco background, they feel it and the unknown at times drives them to do adolescent things. But fear is natural when you don't recognize the dominion to create your life's art. Your power. For those of us who get it we must continue and keep procreating our joy until we are all enveloped in the reach.
The Procreation of Blak Joy
Search…you will not find that here…the pain/
The sounds of upset ocean water…not here
Gavel drops…not here
Of family not seen again…not here
Wind suffocating from bodies stuffed in its mouth
While hanging out before blue eyes…not here.
No dogs barking while looking for that “nigger” ready to die
To be free while he flees/
No pounding water from hoses to sweep you
Off your feet into the matrimony of america.
Not here…no knees wringing out the urine from a human as he screams “mama”/before his
last word is “burn this motherfucker up, you’ll see me in the smoke”
What you’ll see is the joy in blak children’s tone as
They sing beneath their skipping feet because the world Is “just” for them/you’ll see the sun and the moon looking at each other in their starry eyes and fall in love with each other
Night after day after night
while intoning each other’s name in a
multitude of tongues,
a patois of promise
keeping them strong while ruling the universe…. together.
You’ll see blak folks void of the poison from uncle sams textbook and the beauty of the beginning explodes into technicolor notes painting themselves on the aural canals of our soul.
Filling us up.
Making us whole.