Palace Of Thought

I’ve swept the floor
I’ve wiped the door
I’m a slave once more
A smile in my face
Is nothing more - but a disgrace
A stab in my back
Says I’m always under attack
Is it because I’m black?
Is it the color of my skin that is holding me back?
What should I do to be loved?
What should I do to be accepted?
Should I drowned myself in liquor?
Or should I overdose on crack?
My death will surely make them happy
Another revolutionary poet gone unhappy
Leaving behind a divided world in turmoil
Still killing themselves over oil
They asked why I’m writing painful stories
I replied why should I go down on my knees
To beg - to ask - when nothing have been given
In silence and solitude the poems are written
Living in poor in condition
Free to make your own decision
In a world full of confusion and religion
On mic - one man - one mission
But still I’ve go no recognition