IMAGINE AGAIN
41 Shots of Truth For Children
with no chaser
Two friends greet each other
on the street
and when all is said and done
they part by shouting, ONE.
And so the rap world
is shouting ONE,
schoolchildren
are shouting ONE,
the poets
even our women
are shouting ONE
ONE
And one more
picture of life
is deframed:
the youth have been slain
by commercial colored bullets
that shoot into their future.
There are
41 of them to be exact.
There are 41 shots
piercing hopes and dreams
they seep into the blood streams
of our children
to make them believe that
platinum is paradise
and heaven has room for Range Rovers.
There are 41 shot wearing Nike shoes
and shiny suits
that reroute the path of our youth
from bookstores to body bags
and Barbie drags Ken to the window
to watch my little sister play hopscotch:
there are 41 shots
zipping through the air around her
and she doesn’t even notice,
41 shots
dressed in red and blue bandanas
that slice into the minds of passing children
who spin unfocused,
sailing through playgrounds
and Mary goes round
not knowing she’s been hit,
the bullets have pierced her ears.
Her tears go unnoticed
by a brother who believes
that being a teenager
means he has to major in gunshots
instead of jump shots
and books stopped
filling up his schoolbag
the moment BET lead him to believe
that he could be rich in week
by rapping about the hustle—
so now he hustles and raps
and 41 shots wrap round his wrist
as he clenches his fists,
handcuffed and policed
by the streets.
marked with the sign of the beast
that breathes down the necks
of sleeping children
who dreams rainbows
but waken to windows
that show reruns of hopelessness
to unfocused babies,
piercing through the chests
of video crazed ladies
and men who forward and rewind
through lines about drug dealers and crooks.
But I tell you,
books are bulletproof
(there are 41 shots)
books are bulletproof.
Read between the lines!