A child was born/ and at that moment/
A little Afro hung above a little face/ the color of coffee with two drops of cream diluted/

He spent his early time alone and secluded/ Blocks, Firetrucks, crayons and puzzles/

Developed an artistic sense/ curious to know what made the clock go tick – tock/

The energy around him was filled with optimism/

Catholic School/ only 14 other kids in his class/ a teacher and an assistant teacher/

Mother and father watch the little Afro grow into something magical/

“My One Son” 

His mother called him by that name/

Then came another/

December 14Th 1977/

In came the Younger Brother/

The year he came there was a war for the souls of the ghetto/

Pharmaceutical products flooded certain communities by grand design/

The energy around him was filled with cynicism/

Making the younger brother of “The One Son” grittier than he was/

Folding bunk beds/ is where the brothers laid their heads/

Late night it was also where the Little Afro told many stories and his Younger Brother would ask many questions/

Two brothers, seven years apart/

You wouldn’t know this had you closed your eyes and heard them talk to each other tho/

Standing on the same Earth back to back looking at 2 different horizons/

The seasons changed and the little Afro came of age/

He felt compelled to go and baptize himself in the waters of manhood/

His younger brother saw no need for him to leave tho/

In his eyes/ they were already baptized/ minus the holy water/

This water came from sewer pipes built by the armies who dismantled the black family/

Doctor! Doctor! Nervous breakdown in room seven!

The family goes through crisis/

A mother gets pushed to the very edge of craaAaazy/

The little Afro has gone far away/

When the little Afro returns the two brothers do not recognize each other/

Two brothers Seven Years Apart/

Now also separated by the last seven years they spent apart/

Their war is a spiritual war/

A dichotomy of styles and personal truths/

The Little Afro still told many stories and his Younger Brother would still ask many questions/

You wouldn’t know this had you closed your eyes and heard them talking tho/

For this time there was testosterone in their tone/ There was yelling/ there was shouting/

Posturing and bold bluffs/ chest to chest before fist of cuffs/

Ashy knuckles after scuffles/ frozen hot pockets on swollen eye sockets/

Laughter came after…

Two brothers seven years apart/

Doing what brothers do when boys become men/

Then the system took the youngest boy/

The system that profits from public fear robbed him of his precious freedom/

Another seven years would pass/

Again the two brothers did not recognize each other/

Yet still, the Little Afro continued to tell many stories and his Younger Brother would still ask many questions/

The stories were filled with optimism and the questions were filled with cynicism/

Their different perspectives taught them both the value of each other/

In spite of the different horizons they looked at, they still stood back to back/

They grew to love how much stronger two spines back to back were as opposed to one/

They grew to respect the fact/ that they had each other’s back/
Once love and respect intervened something magical happened/

Healing began and for the first time since they were both children/

They were at peace/ For they both realized that they were two versions of the same man/

Only separated by two different ideologies/ and seven years of time/

– GB