My Brother is Gone (poem for Tookie by fellow San Quentin Death Row Inmate and Friend)

My Brother Is Gone

for
Stanley “Tookie” Williams, 1953-2005

by
Steve Champion

I want the world to know
I walked, lived and blossomed
during the time of his presence.
My emotions are too raw,
my senses too frayed
to tell them,
tell anyone . . .
for 20 brass-knuckled years
we struggled together,
forging a bond
cemented by our
faith, love, and brotherhood.

Our way was not always as smooth
as a well-manicured lawn;
We blazed the path as warriors,
knowing in the end
the highest form of bravery
is laying down the sword.

My brother is gone.
No longer will I
gaze upon his glistening,
mahogany colored skin,
look into his gentle eyes, or
grip his Hulk-shaped hands.
No longer will we greet
with a brotherly hug,
or bump fists.
No longer will I
hear his soft-spoken voice,
see his warm smile,
or bask in his charisma.
No longer will I
see his boyish grin,
his smooth gait.
No longer will we
laugh together,
or I poke fun at his modesty
in the face of a compliment.
No longer will we
catch each other’s eyes
from across the yard,
acknowledging our whereabouts.
No longer will I
probe his razor sharp mind,
or excite his insatiable curiosity.

My brother was murdered
At San Quentin Prison,
December 13, 2005, 12:36 a.m.
My brother is gone.

I curse those who rejoiced
upon hearing the news of his death,
now that they are spared from
the muscle of his mind.
Though my heart aches,
and my rage festers,
no revenge of bullets, blades or bloodshed
will bring my brother back.
My brother is gone.

I watched him shed the shackles
of his wild image,
become reborn
in a new spirit.
I named him Ajamu,
“He who fights for what he wants.”
He fought against all odds,
against all naysayers who
sought to pigeon-hole and fossilize
him in his lowest state.
He rose above it to build
a peaceful legacy
that will be talked about
for years to come.

As the energy emptied from his body
and his life was no more,
I yearned to bury him in the African way--
bathe him in lavender
sprinkle myrrh over his body
light a candle
as I wrap him in silk
sing freedom songs.
You are free my brother.
Free
from the perils of a country
that daggers black pride,
emasculates black strength,
and kills black hope.

I wanted to
chant healing mantras for him
to take on his final journey,
weigh his heart on the scales of Maat,
ensure his passage through the underworld,
where Ausar will welcome him.

My brother is gone.
I will not weep
as others will weep;
I will not break
as others will break;
I will not mourn him
as others will mourn him;
I will not celebrate him
as other will celebrate him.
He has left me plenty,
but taken a part of me with him.
I shall honor him as I honor
every freedom fighter:
I will love him in death
as I loved him in life.

We shall meet again,
my brother,
as we planned,
at the crossroads.


© 2005
Steve Champion C-58001
San Quentin State Prison
San Quentin, CA 94974