What Color is Your Blues?

Blues, what is that?
Is it a feeling or the color
of a fact?

They say all peoples gots the
blues,
is yours like mine?
It might be Azure or Powder,
possibly Aqua or Navy.
What
is the blues.to you?

Mine?
My Blues is Black,
like the color of night
when the sun
sets,
after the stars illuminate the
sky in contrast to the moon.

My Blues is Black,
darker than Navy,
thicker than brown gravy,
it ain't even shady,
it is plain ole Black.

You know, like Black like that, Black
cat crossing your tracks, like it knew
it'll make you blue.

My Blues ain't like Jazz,
improvisation and syncopation,
a free-wheeling rhythm
of anticipation.

Naw, Blues is like slow
dancing in the rain
with no umbrella to protect
you against the pain.

My Blues is Black
as in shades of despair,
like Afrikans herded in
bowels of ships
lives in disrepair.

Denmark Vesey and Nat Turner blues,
the kind of blues white people run
away from when they
see it coming.

It is deeper than Harriet
Tubman's underground railroad!

Ya, know what I'm saying.

Blues - Black Blues, no good news,
just plain' ole blues. That down South,
Jim Crow blues, when you can't
chose the color of your blues, 'cuz
color
is segregated into Black and
White.

Yeah, that kind of blues, the only kind
you can choose, because it
is imposed
upon you. That white supremacy
blues. Black blues that won't cure
you when you thought you had the
flu, but it was white oppression
stressing you, depressing you,
breaking you down to tears of a
clown, scratching where you don't
itch, got you fetch'in when you should
have been step'in. Ain't that a bitch?

My Blues is Black, like kinky hair and
smooth skin, the flavor of melanin.
Darker than charcoal and get twice as
hot when ignited by the passion of
desire. Beyond a flaming fire,
torrent emotions resonating from deep within,
blacker than my skin, like onyx.

Blue-Black that shines in the sun
when wet or dry, you can see my
blues before I arrive, like heat rising
from hot black asphalt at
noon my
blues will make you swoon.

Make you think you're seeing mirage
of paradise, disguised, as an
unexpected surprise, when actually its
nothing but white lies.

My Blues is Black faces locked in places,
where razor wire and gun
towers denies escape without traces to
a past of fugitive slave laws and
middle passage, where living free
could mean the death penalty.

Cast down eyes, souls repressed,
despised by lies, a living waste, where
the only haste
is to die a man and be
born a slave.

Yeah, my Blues is Black. Like the
assassination of Martin and Malcolm,
dreams not deferred, but denied in
a conspiracy of white pride.

Like Cointelpro acts, that trapped the
B.P.P. cats, because they were too
Black, set freedom back
to another
millennium.

Are ya, feel'in me?

But, Yo! While my Blues is Black, it
doesn't mean its going to stay
like that. In fact, I'm going
to change my
Blues into Red and Green, and keep
my Black in tact.

Like the flag that Marcus Garvey
brought,
to ensure our memories aren't
caught in psychological destruction.

He wanted us to function towards a
Pan-Afrikan reconstruction, turning
our blues into Black Gold we can use.

The Red, Black, and Green has to
become more than a dream. We must
make
it our living reality by working in
teams, defending the means,
propagating, educating, organizing the
scheme, turning the blues into
precious Black Gold, we standing
bold, never to be sold,
so the world
will behold the magnitude of our role
as revealed in divine scrolls.

Yeah, my Blues was Black, but that
was before the New Afrikan attack on
imperialism and white supremacy.

Black Gold standing bold, to restore
the Red, Black and Green! Ya'll know
what I mean?

Now, what color is your Blues?

Jalil 1999