It's a set-up
Meant to rip apart apartheid
A trap in which they themselves get caught Made as an escape from lashes of the sword
On human backs like whips to a palfrey
A passing on of cultures and a way to be alive mentally
Even when the body has been beaten pulpy
Trapped without an escape from the World
For even death refused to answer when a nigga called
The youngling who from birth became tagged a colour, black
The issue whom on bouncing out from his mother's womb, knew no lack
This one being used to getting what he wants
Whilst the other, to asking was wont
One routinely attended high school
The other's school was closed due to frat wars
One had access to libraries all the while
the other had only one book he was permitted to peruse, the Bible
One had day and night, the other was grateful to be alive a sennight
The former thought about prom night, dates and weekends spent with friends
As for the latter, out of seven childhood friends, just one remained:
one who was now a quadriplegic due to a bullet from a rival gang, lodged in his spine
Reminiscing on why they joined in the first place, only for it to become internally sanguine
One went on to become a poet, the other, by association, did the same
The blueblood, writing about pristine architectural designs seen on trips overseas
On visits to fanciful places, the best sightings as seen by a diver in coral reefs
Scribbling about adventures and lecturing stints in prestigious institutions
He wrote Verses, Odes, Sonnets
The other wrote of black emancipation
Scribing with dolour, about his people's struggles to which the world was purblind
Of the brainwashing to which his people was lab mice
On the universe, creation, self-realization
He scribbled down on worn-out notebooks in free verse, ballads, limericks
About the black man's hustle, life and thuggery
Niggas who did what they had to do to survive, higgledy-piggledy
Pointing out fellow niggas who after all, try
to let the pain out through poetry, giving rise
to the wedding of Thuggery, Rhythm and Poesy
The perfect mixture, as in Coke and Hennessy
The sine qua non for everyday living
Since pussyhat, for a broke nigga was too expensive to accommodate
Writing, speaking words dropped on a rhythm
Singing beautifully, dancing whilst humming and drumming
Seemed to be the only break-away from the world's trapping
Seemingly a getaway for the world thought wrongly
That music, balling or acting were the only careers within a niggas' capacity
Just as rapping was considered impossible for the whitey
For the black man, so was writing and reading eloquently
Gladly, He and a few others proved otherwise, poetic justice
Juxtaposed with rhetorics and the deepest forms of art
so as not to be waylaid by these traps that
When set, brings to the fore, ego which puts everyone on the defensive
Hoodwinked and unaware, or maybe they know but just can't face it
A trap, that is a rap of the true meaning of cause and effect
The punishing of son, for the sins of the father
Albeit neither inherited the prejudices of their grandfathers
It's the evil men do that's living with them, as in karma
Notwithstanding the disparity in their complexions or the other one's behoof
One thing they had in common, in sooth:
was a craving to change the status quo:
Not much they could do, except with the power of words, damage control
For they both knew they had a life handed them, that of the stereotypical
Both well-read, knew of their bad historicals
But in it, like lions after a hunt, neither of them reveled
Yet, no matter how differently they felt
There was no panacea to this
General perception cannot just avaunt
You can't pick your family, or your family history
But you sure make your own story
So they made an assay as a consensus
To live and let live
To write and pen down the obvious
because open minds don't just slide into oblivion, iff they truly open up!