As I sit here looking at the worlds reality from my picture perfect hell I see a front line warrior who looks familiar
only because she reminds me of my mother, my sistah, my daughter and my Queen.
I had to step out of my normal mind and the traditional (male) way of thinking, and I had to do the knowledge to
the beautiful Black Afrikan Queens who stand on what I call the front line. As she steps on the front line I ask
myself, what the hell is going on and what the hell have I done, that I should put my most precious jewel in harms
way? Cast away on an island unfamiliar to her, she is now catching bullets that were meant for me. Has my
beautiful Afrikan Queen, the creator of my Black world been reduced to a mere bullet proof vest, as we lay
cowardly by, allowing her to die for our sins.
Strong but delicate, war tested but fragile, beautiful even though she dons the physical and mental scars of a
seasoned warrior. Yet she continues to stand guard in the absence of the Black man. We have failed her. And we
have failed ourselves. Yet she holds on tight, hoping that we will come to our senses, and take charge of our post
as protector, provider, father and lover.
Not a day goes by that my heart doesn't cry for her to just hold on one more day, and maybe this will be my time
to relieve her from her hard and lengthy battle.
Our babies are out of control growing up to be monsters who are destroying the very essence of themselves. And
all because we (the Black man) have abandoned her. As I stand by and watch Willie Lynch's plan continue to run
in full effect of Mother against son, brotha against sistah, young against old, dark against light and strong against
weak. As bullets continue flying completely out of control and our babies lie still in puddles of blood as they die in
vain.
Our seeds are pointing the most deadliest weapon at themselves that White America has ever produced to
destroy the Black family. THE MIS EDUCATED BLACK MAN with a gun in one hand, a brew in the other as
dope needles stab his veins pumping heroin and caine as he sucks on a crack pipe with his babies in sight,
destroying the very essence of Gods creation.
Afrikan warrior Kings it is time we take our rightful place in the struggle. First of all we must stop the revolving
door that we continue to walk through time and time again. For my elder brothers who are down, take time out to
give these young brothas a pull up. The reason they dont listen is because you dont speak their language. Listen
to Rap music and what it is they are saying, listen to and learn about the hip hop culture and what it means in
depth. Do whatever it takes to open the lines of communication with our sons.
For those brothas on the block, start being fathers to our sons and daughters, so we can assist our Queens who
are on the front lines being Mama and Daddy to our seeds. If you listen to their music you will hear their cries for
help as they cry for those fathers who abandoned them. The streets can only produce one thing and that is what
those on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue have advocated. Guns, dope, murder, mis-education and the disrespect of our
Afikan Queens. As the Bushes get ready to bring in the New World Order, don't forget that the Black man's
destruction was a part of the old World Order. It is now on the front lines once again, this time facing our precious
Queens, as she stands on the inner city battlefields being murdered by our own sons and daughters. I dedicate
this issue of I STAND to our mothers, daughters, sistahs, and grandmothers all, who stand on the front lines in
the absence of the Black man. Sistahs like Afrikan Queens Kujitua Baraka, Sistah Janet Fleming, Martine
Martin, Pam Afrika, Duborah Oya Jomo, and all those sistahs down with the struggle.
I love you with my life and my death...
Takuma Bomani Kalonji
aka
ANDRE SHADEED
#139891
21360 DEERFIELD DRIVE
CAPRON, VA. 23829
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