To Ricky Reel

I don’t know how to say dis Ricky

But things are not getting better.

We are trying to protect each other,

We are shouting loud on demonstrations

On the streets, in the halls,

And in churches, mosques and temples.

We have done non-violent things

In silence

On the streets, in the halls

And in churches, mosques and temples.

I think of you every time I see water gi,

I never saw you fight

But you are a martyr gi,

That river that runs beside my first kiss place

Even that river

Reminds me of you gi.

Now every time I see your mother

I think of womanhood

And every time your mother speaks

I hear her cry,

Things are not getting better Ricky.

The bad news is

Your mother is so special

She is unique and precious,

She shines in a galaxy of women,

She is a tender one and only,

But there are so many mothers like her,

That’s the bad news Ricky,

There are more mothers crying.

Things went from bad to worse

And then from worse to dis serious sickness.

I have to be really honest with you Ricky man

I don’t know who to trust,

I look at white girls and think

Do they want to dance with me or kill me?

I look at white boys and I wonder

Do they want to play football with me

Or drown me?

I look at policemen and wonder what would happen

If I asked them the time?

There is a crisis here,

I’m in trouble Ricky,

I think of you every time I’m out in the dark,

When I see pictures of Marx, Lenin

Or Gandhi

I wonder what can we do for you,

Every time I look at Malcolm X

Clinging to my bedroom wall

I wonder what means are necessary.

There is a great wickedness here

And it thrives on people who do nothing,

It is planted deep in the souls of the serious sick

I don’t know how to say dis,

But things are certainly not getting better,

The pacifists are out,

The militants are out

And we will not be defeated,

But it’s hard, very hard.

I keep seeing your face in my self

And every time I see your mother

There is a constant

I love you Ricky

In her eyes.