For Black men Only Where are you my Brothas? In this essence in time it seems we're extinct and blind Our women, our children, our mothers, fathers and brothers can't find us Have we dis-appeared? Have we allowed America to smear our image with mis-conceptions and lies created out of fear? Look at us bretheren Our situation is beyond critical Instead of unified Kings and noble men we're starving, spiritless, material lusting individuals We are no longer the images of our fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers We're even condemned by them Living in a world of constant battles and sin sending our own selves to our ends No longer friends, just bodies braving the wild of the world Losing our souls as time unfurls It's sad that I no longer feel kin to my bretheren I feel alien amongst crowds of loud-talkin', fast walkin', women kursin' studs who have drug the image of us in the mud We no longer have respect for our Nubian Queens It is an understatement to say that we treat them cruel and mean Our behavior amongst them is extreme We no longer exist with them as a team We Brothas call our precious women everything but who and what they truly are which has left our Queens spirits colored with bruises and scars We treat them so foul one outside of our race would doubt that their ours to serenade with Beautiful names and respect Instead we'd rather treat them with neglect My Brothers where art though As our little men and women experience this world without guidance and protection We've left it to the media, sports stars and rap and r&b songs to give them their lifes lessons We are unrecognized in their eyes lies unseen tears for years our children have sung the blues while we've shown up here and there with an outfit to give them along with a pair of shoes We must wake up We're losing our women and children to this cold world and vultures Lacking knowledge of self and a history of their divine past and culture Let us rise again men and except the positions of providers and protectors Let the world drink from our nurturing nectar I'd like to thank my boy (my children's Godfather) Christopher D. Sims for the poem. This picture was inspired by Black Power Fist I thought this would be a nice end note to Black History month. Enjoy