On Loudspeaker to the Mr. Speaker

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(Special Contribution  by entrepreneur Patrick Leahy)

You question my humanity?

Well I question your humanity.

An ape, a savage, a man in a tree?

Is that all you see?

I’ll tell you one thing.  That is not me.

If control of meter, handle of vocabulary, and power over vernacular is an expression of my intellect,

Then fine.

I will speak in rhyme.

It was your rape and pillage that lost my native tongue to the tests of time.

Your language become mine and allowed me to shine.

We’re all God’s children, each holding back the dark with a spark of the divine.

So I smile.

But don’t get it confused.

My people were more than bruised.

You took us in more than ones and twos.

Put us in chains and had us blast mountains without shoes.

Sorrowful who?

I hope on 43 you were referring to you.

Those are shouts of anger, not moans of blue.

Let me pause.

I do not give you one ounce of credit, one a shred of currency for my language of delivery

But I will give you kudos for handing me the tools to bring about your humility

So let me tell you, white man Conrad, exactly who I am so there can be no question.

I am a man.

Actually, I am more than a man. I am everything I can and everything you can’t

Be. Be afraid.  Hide behind the barrel of a gun. Does that make you feel big?

You’re not. You’re small.

Small men hide. It’s funny how I can’t see you.

You think you’ve written mercy in between the lines?

Ridiculous.  Please remember – your readers are illiterate.

Eager to believe what they see on the surface so stop. Let me reiterate:

I’m no jungle ape – I’m a man of intellect.

Just like Mali was a place of gold and introspect.

Your insults are ones I deflect, feel with no deject, throw spears at because for you I have no respect.

You think we’re dumb in the jungle?

Africa is where civilization got its rumble

Listen up. You know I won’t mumble.

Grab your gun, go ahead Conrad – start to fumble.

Page 42. I look down on you.

Cannibal? The only cannibal here is you. Beating us so bad that our black turns to blue.

You divided our land and consumed our God-given hand.

No gold now. Only words can reprimand.

23. You beat him, you beat me.

Get off the boat. You’ll see what it means to be sorry.

26. You hit me with a stick.

God got back, and now you’re friend knows what it means to be sick.

9, 18, 24, and 35.

I’m amazed anyone was this ignorant, even when you were alive.

I’m tired of this, tired of no respect Mr. Speaker.

Show us as people, not savages watching from the leafy bleachers. 
I’m not a spectator; I’m a real life preacher.

A modern Phillis Wheatley, a true believer.


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