HYPE WILLIAMS, QUINCY JONES

By : Qadir Shabazz

2 min read

When it’s 30 degrees you watch the concrete freeze ,

When these concrete sidewalks freeze up ,

Hoodie up and chin straight.

Young man what’s solid you know don't break.

Soft jazz mixing with my environment ,

Projecting films through my eyes and the outlet is my heart.

Freddie’s gone ,

Cut the scene

When they call it the mud ,

They really talking about the experiences embedded within the streets of every corner those young black men hustled on and seen somebody die on.

The esoteric language of the ghetto on full volume,

Whips on 24 inch rims.

The speakers in these cars ripple your jack daniels as it sits on your kitchen counter before you blurr every memory of pain.

What you expect from us ,

Pay us what you owe us.

Come out ya taxes ,

Come out those pockets doctors.

I need my real estate and my porsche 911.

The new 40 acres and a mule.

Evildoers and evilness ,

All cause the color of my skin.

It get deeper don’t it.

Allah the god but they call him wicked don’t they ?

The white man

It’s all apart of the plan aint it.

I pray for better times ,

I pray I stay alive.

I pray. I eat. I meditate. I love. I sing. I dance. I wonder. I watch. I see. I know. I feel. Im also a human being.

So what the hell is wrong with you?

—Qadir Shabazz

Qadir has a new full-length poetry album out now. Listen to this fusion of blues, funk and spoken word at www.qadirshabazz.bandcamp.com

* Originally published in-print in Boston Compass Newspaper April #145 2022

Check out all the art and columns of April's Boston Compass at www.issuu.com/bostoncccompass

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