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Shut Your Mouth Until Your Feet Hit Dry Ground

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  Shut Your Mouth Until Your Feet Hit Dry Ground We have developed a fatal habit of mistaking loud agitation for actual liberation. We get three strokes out into deep water, catch a whiff of momentum, and immediately start barking threats at the predator whose belly we are swimming across. The Zambian and Somali elders laid down a non-negotiable rule of survival: “Do not insult the crocodile until you have crossed the river.” Yet every single day, our people take to timelines and street corners, screaming declarations of war against a predatory apparatus that still owns the roof over our heads, the food in our refrigerators, and the water coming out of our pipes. That is not revolution; that is suicidal arrogance. On this day of Ujamaa—steeped in the restorative, fluid force of water and draped in vibrant green—we must confront the reality that economics is not just buying Black. It is the ruthless, calculated conservation of your life-force energy. The river is the perilous passa...
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Final GoodBye III- Writing for Healing

His Story is Mine

His story is mines,
Better yet my story is his,
For now I can no longer deal with what was,
Now I have to deal with what is.
A great tree has fallen in the forest of life,
A tree that provided shade for many and a shelter from strife.
But this is not the end of his tory for his story is mine,
And his story will live through his bloodline for all time.
His story is not over because his story is mine, and I need for his loved ones to read between the lines.
Although his body is gone his spirit is strong, that explains why through the pain and confusion he lived so long.
Fear not because his story is not over because his story is mine,
He has made it to peace and he rest with the divine
We are the seeds and saplings grafted from his tree and now he can rest in comfort for his story can be told by we.
His story is not over, because his story belongs to me
For I am a proud branch on his family tree, I will always remember those that came before, those that struggled like no people before.
Like Miles Brown and the lady known as Ms. Ann their stories will live because it was passed to my hands
Like Herman Brown and Rosa lee
Like Geneva and Herman brown the second, and Cleven Brown now can peacefully join their essence
Although his body has now been returned to the earth
His story and their story has been cemented  in  time by Cleven Miles Brown's birth.
His story his mine, his story is ours, his story is ours.
Now tell it.......

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