'For the People,' 'TRIBUTE,' and 'REDBONE'

Umar Bin Hassan

'FOR THE PEOPLE'

At ease with the source. I revel in the silent song of the breeze. The oppression that begins each moment comes to grip with the mind's eye. In the dark green density of the forest there is a place where all beings, all consciousness, all experience comes together in the flight of the wasp, in the darkness and secrets of mestizo eyes, in the torrid and raging passion of pagan rituals. All cries, all pleas, all justice, all meanings are visible to the divine in you, to the divine in me. Swept up in the anthem of human progress and the rendering of ourselves to mink coats and alligator shoes. Hoping and praying we remember where we learned to become human. In the beginning our minds are strong. Our hearts are big. We keep believing in love and kindness to our friends, to our enemies. But these values. These few pennies and dimes degenerate our sensitivity. Our soul awakens us from a dreadful sleep. She cannot feed us the rocks and pebbles that sprout from the soil. She cannot kiss us with lips protruding with disease and pollution. She cannot hold us with arms burdened by exploitation. But still we see our future in her images and symbols. In the beauty of her tapestries. In the horns and guitars. And dancing in the street. And cool breezes kissing the desert sands. And the romance of street people sincerely pleading take your time with the music, for this is for the people. Take your time with the music for this is for the people. Take your time with the Revolution for this is for the people!

'TRIBUTE'

That special place inside your smile, that belongs to the softness of our hearts.

The new circle is beginning. Will we be there when it ends?

The children patronize a flaming merry go round.

Many are riding the pale horse.

They nod so divinely at a lost parade.

Their ghostly playmate has left their innocence in shambles.

A whirlwind has stolen their humility.

What smile is this upon their face.

A smile that mourns the obscenity of their youth.

No flowers for them to smell. No grass to sing the praises of nature. No blue skies for them to bathe their hopes in.

Trapped in the skylines of florescent charms.

Warm and timid touches being forced into unnatural acts.

While rich men dance with limp dolls in the luxury of their shame. Their mouths foaming from dead languages, while democratic lies bay at the moon.

Why must the dark ages still play games with us? But righteousness is still standing.

Truth beckons its glory to us.

Can't you see that it's time to move on into that Special place inside your smile that

Has graced us with warmth and inspiration.

Blind sprinters lost in a moment of a peaceful masquerade.

Evil is an intruder. But why do we let it in?

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

Time and time again we are being harassed by spastic heroes.

Heroes who speak maggots for words. Heroes who vomit in the eyes of sabbath.

Heroes who unleash killer locusts upon our dignity.

Run ... Run ... the ocean is going to sail without us.

The stars have no sympathy of our allegiance with darkness.

The birds are not singing. They are not winging And we can't fly! We can't fly!

Grounded with the sinister burden of free enterprise.

Bombs shatter the shrines of our independence.

But there must be struggle and striving and struggle.

And a walk to the water, every step a journey into trust.

The future needs a friend to believe in.

The truth flashes by in the trail of a comet.

The ancestors always speak in volumes.

The children are the ones we must save.

Take their hands sincerely, and walk with them in their time, in their rhythm, in their

Smiles, in their pushes on the swings, in their falling down and getting back up.

You will learn how to live and be at ease with yourself in the Special place inside

Your smile!

'REDBONE'

In the Sketches of Spain and the cool drama of your smile, my first breath of fresh air was REDBONE. And I constantly began to cling to the hem of your sacred song of never what you ... needed. But only of what you wanted to give. I happily waddled and toddled in the stutter of your name rolled off of my lips wisely and carefully as I tried to keep my distance in Manchild rebellions and the Dance of the Infidels that always seemed to find their way back to your Mood Indigo. You were the only real Africa in my clenched fist and revolutionary posturing. Your Prayers. Your whispered suggestions on the Wind kept my eye on the Prize. I was your Prince for a moment in that realm of Misterioso and the humiliation of men seeding redress for miscarriages of justice in Mississippi Juke Joints and the Lullabys of Birdland. You nurtured my soul with Responsible dreams and hopes for the future of your words ... became mine to be confused, but concise. Troubled, but seeking. Somewhat exaggerated, but always loving inspirations to write poems for REDBONE women like you.

With Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum in one hand and trust in the other we ran naked through Public parks opened late at night for private lap dances and strip poker in the real ... Garden of Eden inside of me and inside of you ... were my first love in the Big City of Country Boys who became small town memories and fading Neon flickers of moving too fast to slow down. Slow down ... you said as you straddled my...