Thoughts of Brother Shabazz

In memory of El Hajj Malik El- Shabazz
May 19 1925 - February 21 1965
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji un



Rain licked pavement in Washington Heights
makes my heart heavy.
My spirit grows silent even with loud whispers
that scream from uptown streets.
This city never sleeps,
and rain still mixes with tears cried in ‘65
leaving salty puddles on the corner
of Broadway and 165th street.

There are no apologies;
No resolution in the offering.
Only theories and stories
of how he was slain by his own.
This great warrior
who trumpeted loudly for victory;
Called us to battle for dignity
by any means necessary.
When Kings down south turned cheeks,
facing fire hoses while they marched for peace,
this warrior primed us for battle,
believing that the time for asking was over.

Tuned our bones with a message of empowerment;
Carried us with his fiery tone;
This man, who could see through his own death
over hills yet to be formed,
to fertilized valleys in need of cultivation.
He dreamt as well,
but with urgent action;
Built bridges with his bare hands
that still stand strong.

His words still ring in my ears
summoning the peaceful Warrior in me
that resembles what he came to be
in the end;
When they wheeled his lonely gurney
from the Audobon ballroom,
across the broad way
through cold February wind.,
past many weeping hearts,
and suspended dreams
into the halls of Presbyterian Hospital
where his last life seeped through
The many holes in his chest.

At 3:30PM the world was told
of our deferred dream and silenced voice;
Of our extinguished fire;
Of our leader lost;
Snatched from Betty and the world
by hate that bubbles to the surface

when it rains in Washington Heights.


© 2010 Keith Horton