DISCIPLINE WITHIN
By GR8BLACK1
All Rights Reserved by Author
Discipline Within
To my Beautiful African Brothas,'
as long as lust is our master,
our good friend and confidant
will be disaster.
To control this lust, it will require the complete trust
of our mind, body, and soul
on a daily basis as we
train our brain to remain in control of
the biggest challenge
for this African King today, as we say
"when she wears those tight jeans
and those onion skin dresses,
it just messes wit' me when I see
that cleeea-vage,
and that bangin' backside,"
OOOh,
it makes me wanna' ride . . .
my mind to another place in time
where the discipline within rules
and not the lust, that creates fools.
We think it's what she's wearin'
or how she's talkin',
as we keep our mind on her behind
while she's walkin'
and we begin stalkin' her,
as though she's some sort of personal prey
and when she responds to what we say
with scorn and venom,
our reaction is "forget them
African Sisters"
and rather than check our own procedure,
we want to leave her . . .
for the pale one, as we run and hide
on the other side.
But it's OK, as long as we want to stray,
we will play and lay and stay
and betray - her
until the day
we want to come back
to the Beautiful, Black,
African Queen.
Weak, and sorry
and broke down,
without the glory or the crown,
this king once wore with pride,
nothing left but shame inside,
as we attempt to apologize
‘cause to our surprise
we realize as we cry,
it wasn't so wise to jeopardize
with lies what we had.
It's sad to know this is what it takes,
only when we're on the brink'n
stinkin' from drinkin'
and overcome by the shakes,
that a brotha' starts thinkin' . . .
it's the discipline within that rules
and not the lust, that creates fools.
Don't blame it on the boogie, the backside
or the bust,
what she's wearin', what we're hearin'
or the fact that she is starin.'
We must,
blame it on the lust,
‘cause my sister can wear
a keg-barrel and straps,
a raggedy curtain as a wrap.
She can wear a skirt made of old rotten leaves,
a to'-up to'-down shirt
with ripped up sleeves.
She can wear a dress
that covers from neck to toe,
it can fit so loose we'll never know
her gifts of curves, shape, and size,
you see, the key
is in her eyes,
as you look within
against the back drop
of the finest of fair, to honey golden,
to chocolate, to dark and delicious, sun glazed skin.
Man,
why can't we understand
that even if she thinks it's what she's wearin,'
it's not her plan, Damn!
It is a must! - for us to see
that it's NATURE that makes her
the object of our desire,
to stand beside her
with pride in knowing
that she is glowing, glowing, glowing,
because it's our hand she is holding.
But is that what we really want,
or is it just another attempt to flaunt
her beauty on a temporary basis,
make her another victim of one of our foolish races to
git' it, hit it, and quit it?
If so, just chill, let her go, step aside.
Our women are tired of that
long, negative, mentally, physically,
and emotionally draining ride.
African Men it is not our duty
to approach her,
this Beautiful, African Queen
when seen, shoot some Bullshit line,
offer a bottle of wine and a bite of swine.
However, it is our responsibility to
see and greet her,
appreciate and treat her
like the Queen she is.
Respect her, protect her,
never neglect her,
whether she is a stranger, lover, or platonic friend,
because ultimately, in the end
it will be on this
Beautiful, African Queen
our very life will depend!
So, my brotha's, my partners, my friends,
She needs a man who understands,
that it's the discipline within that rules,
and not the lust, that creates fools.
Alphonso
© June 8, 1998