Poem: An Ode to the Black Man
Mood Music: Brotha By: Angie Stone
As we struggle with issues of racial inequity in America, I feel like it is important to sing a chorus of encouragement and praise to the group of people being targeted most- Black Men.
This is not to say that any other group of males should not be praised, but at this time, in this particular sector of history, the Black Man deserves a moment of adulation.
Before you were born,the world decided it hated you.
While other fetuses reside in peace,
with everyone joyously awaiting their arrival,
The song of your birth was a funeral marcn.
You’ve spent your life
with sweat on your brow
and the world on your shoulders.
To those that seem to matter,
you are a foul odor
-A bitter wine that must be spit out.
You have been taught to hate yourself.
You even scorn the black skin
that stretches out like lonely midnight
over your tired bones.
Your black steps in this white world,
has been declared a stain.
They look at you and see Satan,
but I look at you and,
When was the last time you checked your reflection Black Man?
When was the last time you really observed what you saw in the mirror?
If you could, for one moment,
not look at you as they see you,
But look at yourself and behold what I see-
It’s something about those eyes-
set deep and kind,
Rich with thought,
aged with time.
It’s something about that skin-
bronzed honey and gold,
Smooth like stone.
You broke God’s Mold.
You, who the world hates.
You, who the world tears down.
They see a peasant,
but I see a king.
Your very essence
makes me want to travel back down the Nile,
And sit on your right side as Queen.
I want to be covered in your darkness,
And moan your name under an African night sky.
You see imperfection,
but I see heaven’s gates open.
As those thick lips reveal a pearly smile,
I ponder what a white dove,
perched on black sand would look like.
You who beg for a seat at the table,
deserves a seat on the throne.
Could it be you stepped down from the sky,
and are cut from a piece of night?
adorned by the stars,
that illuminate your chocolate eyes?
Your rough hands leave a touch
that lingers on the skin and the mind for eternity.
Your deep voice is a balm that heals brokenness.
You are a doctor of sorts,
and when you settle down
and let your love flourish,
We reap a harvest,
too great to carry in a thousand loads.
Those arms of yours,
so sinewy and long,
Should be perched on a table with gods,
atop Mount Olympus.
Those lips so curved and divine,
should we wrapped around ambrosia.
I am no curator,
but you are my favorite work of art.
Michelangelo’s David, in all its splendor,
cannot hold a solitary candle to you…..
who is crafted by the hands of God.
No fortune is greater,
than to love a Black Man,
No mind wiser
than a Black Man’s.
No gaunt more titillating,
than that of a Black Man.
No love deeper,
than that of a Black Man.
No person higher
than you Black Man.
Lift your head higher,
I want to see you Black Man.
in every way Black Man.
Don’t let them keep you down,
I want to hold you Black Man,
And if no one ever told you….