This is a letter to my dear brothers and sisters.
The ones of the new generation who forget.
The ones who say 'This fight is not mine'.
My uncle Martin sheds tears for you.
He and aunt Rosa begged for your rights and normality,
but you fail to see the pains of their efforts.
They never once sat still when your great-grandparents were placed in cages, and shot down in the streets.
But you do.
You kiss their feet and take defeat!
Cousin Huey is rolling in his grave,
Because you vagrants are willing to sit on the street corner,
and simply puff your lives away.
Good Lord you are so quick to take defeat!
Kathleen and Mr Malcom are frowning at you,
Because you close your ears to hard truths.
They expect you, expect us,
to be in gangs, to fail at life.
Your rich skin will qualify you for society's strife.
Hence reform is forced upon you,
and you accept it.
Little Jokers shouting, 'Black Power!'
Shut your mouth, because,
the beat-down, hard-headed throw aways,
still live to do ANYTHING that the white man says.
And that's sad in many ways.
I hope this letter gets to you. Not just to you, but you too.