The road run straight with no turning, the circle runs complete as it is in the storm of peace, the all embraced embracing in the circle complete turning road straight like a burning straight with the circle complete as in a peaceful storm, the elements, the niggers’ voices harmonized with creation on a peak in the holy black man’s eyes that we rise, whose race is only direction up, where we go to meet the realization of makers knowing who we are and the war in our hearts but the purity of the holy world that we long for, knowing how to live, and what life is, and who God is, and the many revolutions we must spin through in our
Seven adventures in the endlessness of all existing feeling, all existing forms of life, the gases, the plants, the ghost minerals the spirits the souls the light in the stillness where the storm the glow the nothing in God is complete except there is
Nothing
to be incomplete the pulse and change of rhythm, blown flight to be anything at all…vibration holy nuance beating against itself, a rhythm a playing re-understood now by one of
the 1st race…
Reference:
Amiri Baraka
