Tupaku

walk tha city streets ~
this prison of seclusion ~
is a delusion.

Tupaku -

Cold as the devil ~
an educated black man ~
rebel of the underground.

Haiku

a warm interlude ~
the birds scramble, gathering ~
clouds make dreary days

Haiku

frost on the windshield ~
Canadian geese flying ~
Jupiter hangs high

Tupaku

Now they're after me
the punk police ain't learned shit
divided we fall

Tupaku

cannot escape fate
the black youth of the ghettos
gotta start teaching

Tupaku

I often take time to compose haiku. It is to me an exercise in reflection. Growing up as rap and hip hop was coming of age, there were few artist or performers who crushed our collective notions of what normal is like Tupac. His body of work holds for us a picture. It is a snapshot of what life was life before hip hop or rap became covered in the sticky, glossy, sugar coatings of popular music. I think it becomes even more salient when distilled to the 575. So begins the Tupaku...

Strong in the struggle
came a long way to get checked
stuck with that rough shit