Napturalicious (I Love Your Naps) by Kamal Imani (c) 2007

Her sweet kinky naps go back to electromagnetic cats from the land of the blacks where the sphinx naps
Her sweet kinky naps go back to electromagnetic cats from the land of the blacks where the sphinx naps

I need a Nappy Headed Diva!
In her I’m a believer
I get high off her like ganja
I’m her quarterback
she’s my wide receiver
Forget what society think
she’s a high acheiver
Thought I told you before yo
I’ll never leave her
I had to hit her wit a friend request
a myspace link
when I heard her playing Lauren Hill
and saw her khemit kinks
She’s a lavender flower
in a world that stinks
when she walks by like Ms. Sadey
that’s a sophisticated southern lady
even the devil winks
but 666 can’t have her
cause she’d rather
have the kushite diety
and baby that be me
see
I ain’t gon through struggles for nothing
my struggles my initiation
and when I saw her on the street
there was no time wastin
no procrastination
Harlemite born, yo we don’t play
I
stepped to her with no delay
like
“sweet jesus
can I touch the hem of your garment?”
and of course she laughed
as i asked for her business card
and her autograph
some matrix type chicks would have walked pass
but her dread type natural naps served as an antenna
that detected this bredren right here was a winner

Cause her sweet naps go back to electromagnetic cats from the land of the blacks where the sphinx naps
so as she walks the streets all she hears is raps like” yo, ma holla back, can a brother get some play?
yo what’s up wit that?”

Cause brothers use to believe that light skin was in
whether temp or perm or contract
but never a double chocolate delicious diva with black naps
I’ll take either one
I’ll take them as they come
all shades of the black spectrum
those khemit kinks remind me of the african village
tribe of shabazz 9 ether smoke incense and drums
If those naps were a snack I’d keep them in my poetry back pack
throw the seeds in a farm, harvest them and get real phat
When I run my fingers through those naps it’s nothing like the
thoughts of our collective middle passage experience
stringy hair, my akashic fingers couldn’t feel that
your naps reveal that
I love every square inch of your reflection
which means I love being black.

Her sweet kinky naps go back to electromagnetic cats from the land of the blacks where the sphinx naps

kamal imani c 12/29/07 Shout Outs to Auset 999

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