Wisdom-gray hair and lines that matched the grains in her gentle skin,
The scars just to stay alive, I mourned, I cried I smiled, Sitting below her feet, as I rubbed them to sleep, As she spoke in a warriors voice, Listening to the history Of survival and strength, Ancestors I never knew, A cry for life , A cry for belief , A cry for nothing at all , Just your belief in myself, that I shall give the aired bones, a going home palace, forsaken all those who have lynched her through the corners of her mind. Felt the spirit Of a woman who's history Was my own, as she continue to feel the ropes of her off springs, which left me to bare arms.
I sit upon the darken of the window, the rain from my mama's eyes, the cry for the dear God, I wondered why my mama birth me, all the hurt and pain, never knew my daddy, are mama, my grandma the rain from her pain. I feel inside Emotion not shown, my soul grows weary and my heart so weak,
I sit as I gaze out the window trying to understand, birth of pain, that I shared with my mama, who I live, lord why the rain from my grandma eyes. Gray hair, wrinkles upon her hands, night she stumble through the room, trying to give me everything she never had, I took my hand above her brow, and kissed it gently upon the light, the rain continued to poor from my grandma eyes. So many is the number Of these repudiated souls So many times Rejected of a mother's love For every forgotten one There is an ocean of tears rejected of this world He stands at Heaven's gate With his arms outstretched
Never complaining to me about her pain, but I felt the pain through my heart, The ancestor of my heritage treason upon their family tree.
She gave me spiritual knowledge, and taught me about the almighty, as she held me tight, A blessing from God, but the rain from my grandma eyes, made me wish I was dead, My soul screamed and my body wept, and my sorrow, kept inside of the burning chest.
Born of a mother Once enslaved By her own kind called daughter, as she held me tight, said son cry no more, Spoken from her olden lips, freedom she thought at the time of aging process, Freedom she song in silence upon her lips, the breeder of 5 seeds, the lynching of 4, the treason of the last, that lived behind the 8/11 box, Grandpa has moved on, and grandma rears me on her own. The Church which was her home Emancipating generations of Children and many were not her own, I cry as she speaks, the olden crown lynched by the seeds of her sacred grounds.
My mind wonders in the depth of the night,
Thinking about my ancestors, as the slave master took her babies
from her breast, raping them at the age of 10, as their mothers sit back in the darken cells, the seeds felt their mama pain,
and to live it over again, by the seeds you gave life, lynched by the child who you birth, my present and my future
Thinking about the execution of mind, progress, and my success
Feeling nothing else but true happiness
I've made it far
Overcoming all, even that that wasn't planned for
Only to overcome so much more
I don't know what God has in store
But with great enthusiasm for life
I wait till he opens that door.
