In my past life i was a Bushman dropping science, spitting spoken word over tribal drums/
freestyling in open-fire ciphers where everyone was invited to come/
pass the calabash around, light the pipe so i can smoke something to excite my lungs/
puffing on giant blunts the size of five thumbs--never get high enough/
the wise words of a prophet trying to inspire everybody, from the dying to the young/
wisdom was the best weapon--stronger than the might of the white man's gun/
different strategies of war, but who decides when the fight is done?/
conflict is a way of life, every night the moon has to fight the sun/
universal doctrine, woe to those who disregard the law of process/
the alpha and omega, effects and causes/
contrary to popular thought it's not rocket science, it is common logic/
every August we give props and pay homage to the god of harvest/
sacrifices of prized goats, ivory and gold, rice with cloves/
nine foot statue of Shaka Zulu the same hue as styrofoam/
folk tales of messiahs who broke bread and fed thousands/
tapped the ground with a staff and the earth erected mountains/
divine beings who healed the sick and cursed the statesman's arrogance/
placed a finger on a pregnant whore's belly and made her barren/
the mighty pillars of the village's existence--honor, compassion, humility and discipline/
elders told animal stories with swahili proverbs, while little children sat quietly and listened/
this African aesthetic nothing less than majestic/
but History, or rather "His-story" has left a lot to be questioned/
deceptive texts spread with the intent to suppress the continent's essence/
we were once Kings and Queens even though they treat us like peasants/
either way we are all connected to this complex network--the celestial wireless matrix/
a global village of different cultures, beliefs, ideas and races.
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