Blackman on the street
Skin black
Wrapped in the arms of my forefathers
We gather to meet
In strange lands abounding in
Street soul and leisure complete
Cameras and cameos, strange hellos
Whistles in the day time and amusing laughs
and whimsical giggles
So rich and rare
This is the dream that composed
The melodies of my ancestors
Whose words wrap themselves in the minds of my
people
As they waltz their pride on the strange paths
And then they pose, the lens, the light
A captured moment, a lyrical escaped, a song, a
strange fruit in these eyes of mine
They are strange, we are strange
A perfect blend of rod and mortar
Then we dissolve the friction between friction
and fact
Our prejudices and insecurities fade…slowly
and die
A perfect blend of rice and rapoko
A moment, captured, Blackman…posing
