The narrative follows the aftermath of this trauma. While some survivors grow up, their "toy stories" remain untold or disbelieved. The poem critiques the systems and institutions (the "three branches," the handlers, those who play "Monopoly" with justice) that ignore evidence, protect perpetrators with "Get Out of Jail Free" cards, and neglect their duty to protect the innocent. This systemic failure leads to the ongoing suffering of survivors, who battle "insomnia, massive depression," and anxiety, often turning to substances to cope—a tragic attempt to "vanish" the pain of their stories. Ultimately, the recurring chorus serves as a unifying cry, reminding survivors they are not alone in their pain and placing the shame where it belongs: on the perpetrators and enablers, not the victims.

---

Credits & Dedication

Written by: Black Pearl

Chorus Performed by: Black Rose Pearl

Published Under:

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

In association with Rose Quartz Manifestos

Dedicated to:

The fight against human trafficking and the global campaign to save the children—all the children around the world.

Their stories deserve to be heard. Their innocence deserves to be protected.

for the people by the people

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Spectrum Sound Bitez

Copyright@2026

My fellow Americans,

Tonight, we are told this is a State of the Union address. But look closely. What you will see is not a report on the state of our people, but a parade of narcissism. It will be packed with a fascist, racist attitude that does not see you, does not hear you, and certainly does not represent you.

It is not about the people. It is not for the people. It is not by the people. It is about the decorations of a regime, propped up by lies, propaganda, and gaslighting. They want to convince us that what we are seeing with our own eyes is not real. But we are not fooled. We will not be gaslit any longer. We don't want to hear it anymore.

We are witnessing the slow demise of our democracy into a dictatorship. We see neighborhoods being tarnished, families torn apart, and people herded into concentration camps simply because they are not from the "right" side. This isn't a storyline from a Netflix documentary about the malicious presidents of the past—the Hardings, the Wilsons, the Jacksons who thought they alone built America. This is happening now, on our watch.

We must re-align our foundation. We are told to chant "America First." But I tell you now: America is God’s first. And in God we trust. That is not just a stamp on our currency; it is a covenant. Once that seal is placed, that is where our homage belongs. We must stop pretending we are a part of some alignment of power that serves only itself. Our discernment must come from a higher place.

Black Pearl

Precious Jam Gemstone

To surpass

Is the task.

Go ask Survival:

"How long

Is our road

On this lifespan?

Are we going to last?"

You better

Start giving...

Dame.

All in this together

How do you like the weather now?

It’s ashes

Until we all fall down

Do you see what I see?

Do you hear what I hear?

How could this be?

I thought we were living in modern luxury

Look at the economy

We still living in poverty

The priorities are getting envious

These liens are serious

We are now seeing the light

Because we are their

Fuckery

They are frauds

They should get a charge

They asking us to get job

But they never work hard

They need to get a life

While the supreme is in shambles,

The republic are gambling off our lives

The emperor

May not make bread for us

While our patriotic uncle

Has us on chokehold,

Which is time

For them to go

Geronim!

All into together

How you like the weather

All in this together

How is the weather now?

All in this together

How is the weather now?

Ashesx3

Until, we all fall down

You know the creator

Is the rain maker

, so all in together

Now

How you like the weather

Now,

Until we stand ground.

Until we stand firm on the ground

All in together now,

I wonder what the enemies are

planning now ?

It is time for us to engage

Turn onto the next page

The vital statics

Oh, Boy !

They are so

Ridiculous

As soon as ,

The new year's ball drop

There goes the

General pop

Those streets got hot

In the summer

Until the sweater weather

Which one of us got shot?

Get busty by some random cops

Look at the daily

Forcast

The economy is lacking

The bodies are still stacking

How ironic is that ?

Every time,

we see the daily forecast

The government take a past

Here comes enemies

They are like eyes of the storm

No one seems to be alarm

Our people in a body bags

Fail to mention

They are same ones spore

west hemisphere

What is the forecast?

For us

They gather us

It ashes

Until we fall down!

Are somehow landed allegedly

Like a bury treasures

Located at pocket watch

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

The Choice

We Made

Black Rose Pearl

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Did We Vote for Democracy or Regime?

We once lived beneath a security blanket, vast and wide,

Democracy, our shelter, our guardian, our guide.

It nestled us safe from the coming storm,

A steadfast promise, faithful and warm.

It built an economy with an even trade,

Where voices could speak, unshaken, unafraid.

Ideas could rise for the whole world to see,

And even in critique, we breathed freely.

Democracy rode as a horse, mighty and true,

Pouring strength into education, health, and stability too.

It swung the door open for every woman and man,

And called that word by name: Equality—its plan.

It ensured no child, no woman, no man would go hungry, be left behind

And barred the iron fist—unyielding, never sundry.

But in 2024, some doubted this grace,

And woke a sleeping serpent in its place.

It came as a regime, with a cold, dividing hand,

And began to strip away the freedoms of our land.

It took from the many, gave to the few,

And those who followed, believing its power true,

Will learn in time: that borrowed might decays,

And the light they worship will soon fade away.

We are hanging by a string when it comes to democracy, ladies, and gentlemen. Look.

Now look—see how democracy’s foundation is strained.

A journalist, born of Baton Rouge, who carried the pain

Of ancestors through slavery, sharecropping’s chain,

Jim Crow’s cruelty, and civil rights’ gain—

For thirty years his voice was clear,

Using the First Amendment to persevere:

Free speech, free press, assembly, belief.

Yet before a crowd, in stunning grief,

As he stood to receive honor, a moment brief,

The regime took him—a public arrest,

Silencing truth, and putting justice to test.

Toni Morrison, a world star, with wisdom clear,

Warned how they come for the art we hold dear.

Journalism is part of the collective soul,

A vital piece that makes the nation whole.

This pattern is not new—this regime

Rose Pearl

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Sound Bitez

Black Pearl : The official Artist

Copyright@2026

Brothers, Sisters, Comrades in the struggle.

We gather not to whisper, but to testify. Not to beg, borrow, steal, but to demand. We are here to speak a truth that the system wishes to bury in silence and in paperwork. We are here to break the conspiracy of quiet, to shatter the cycle of forgetting.

They tell us to claim our peace. But what peace can exist on stolen ground? They speak of our freedom of speech, our internet freedom. Yet when we speak the most important names, the names of our stolen sons and daughters, they turn down the volume. They change the channel. They pretend not to hear.

So I say to you today: we will not be silent. Our silence has been a weapon used against us. Our question echoes in the streets, in the halls of power, in the chambers of our own hearts: When are they going to stop the violence?

I demand you pay full attention. Focus your minds and your spirits. We are not here for metaphor. We are here for a man.

Say his name.

Say his name.

Black Lives Matter

Only archived

never fades away.

Keith Porter, Jr.

Say his name.

Keith Porter, Jr.

Say his name.

Keith Porter, Jr.

An ice age orchestrated by indifference robbed Keith Porter, Jr. of his stage, his future, his very last breath. He is not a statistic. He is one of ours. He is our son. He is our Golden State son. He is our stepson, our father, our stepfather, our cousin, our grandson, our great-grandson. He was a natural-born United States citizen. A taxpayer. His name belongs on every front page, on every news scroll, in every social media feed, in the debates of Congress! His life belongs in the public record, not circling the drain of a system that pretends he never existed.

Say his name.

Say his name.

Black Lives Matter

Only archived

never fades away.

Keith Porter, Jr.

Say his name.

We put the question to the leaders, to the county, to the district, to the state: Why are you not holding the off-duty accountable for taking an unfortunate life? Where is the accountability? There is a vile irony at work! A Congress that can release funds for foreign regimes to "wipe the slate clean," yet cannot bring itself to clean its own house. They release chaos. They unleash vigilante vengeance upon our communities, and then wonder why the streets are burning.

As the great Marvin Gaye cried out in a prophetic song: “This ain’t living! What’s going on?” I ask you today: What is going on? That we must now consider bulletproof vests and face shields as daily wear in America? This nation is becoming a monument to waste—a waste of potential, a waste of promise, a waste of life.

We are tired.

We are tired of marching.

We are tired of swinging on trees.

We are tired of being buck broken

We are tired of being provoke

We are tired of being ill treated

As a joke.

We are tired of being ignored.

We are tired of being unheard.

Our fatigue is not a signal for surrender. It is the fuel for our final demand. We will not be fatigued into silence. From this fatigue, we forge our DEMAND FOR JUSTICE.

So let it ring from this place, let it echo in every corner where they think we are not listening, let it shake the foundations of every institution that has looked away:

o longer a request, but a reality. We will say it until his name is not a cry of pain, but a covenant of change.

Black Pearl ( Narrator)

Black Rose Pearl ( lyrics)

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Even though I have a nightlight,

I find it hard to go to bed.

I can feel the fragment pieces

Falling down over from my head.

Unseen forces signal dead people.

Maybe it’s too hard to handle.

Just remember—darkness lies

Within a candle.

Words began with letters,

Compelled by flocks of humanized meanings.

When they come together,

They create assortments of feelings.

Even if the world falls,

Fragments splattered over the ground,

Which brings us along…

Come together.

Even though I have a nightlight,

I find it hard to go to bed.

I can feel the fragment pieces

Falling down over my head.

Fragments, all fallen from the sky.

Trust me—I can’t lie.

Fragments like shattered glass.

As soon as I ran for cover,

One cut—all of us bleed

As we witness another death

From human lives.

Systems are broken.

No—they are corrupted by unseen forces,

Mysteriously.

A crack hole in those fishermen’s vessels

Went deep sink.

The ones who still want to profit from the pan

Claim the mark of the beast in their hands.

The gospel lands at “straight and narrow”—

Too ethical.

They prefer their minds and hearts hollow.

While others, like myself,

Begin to pray for tomorrow.

Trouble won’t last as we lift the glory

Higher, higher, higher.

Take these fragment pieces

As we lift up glory higher, higher, higher.

Fade away the fragments.

They pass on, they ran for cash instead.

If there’s a choice for high road or low—

Cut cost.

The bottom feeders went straight to the boss

(Mr. Biggs).

Low rides bring the Lone Star,

Provide frequent flyer miles after the storm.

Meanwhile, I won’t answer my door.

The collector ate all my peas and rice

After they said goodnight.

There goes my dinner.

Even though I have a nightlight,

I find it hard to go to bed,

Because those fragments keep on falling

Down right over my head.

Sixty minutes lead to an hour,

Made a pitch like the Twin Towers.

There goes our express power,

Shattered files into fragments.

Pieces.

Shareholders buried them in a ditch.

623 vs 1.

Fragments all fell from the sky.

Nightlight—I find it hard to go to bed,

Because those fragments keep on falling

Over my head.

Fragment… 32 vs 9.

It is a rhetorical question to ask why

When fragment pieces have fallen…

Even though I have a nightlight,

I find it hard to go to bed,

Because those fragments keep on falling

Down right over my head.

— ∞ —

Some collect them in jars,

Label them “stars” or “scars,”

Some sweep them under the floor,

And pretend they need no more.

But in the quiet, in the spin,

They remember where they’ve been—

A mosaic of the shattered day

That will not wash away.

So I sit up, in the electric dim,

And gather them, limb by limb.

Not to fix, not to make whole,

But to acknowledge every toll.

For even a fragment holds a shine,

A broken edge, a lifted line.

And maybe in the gathering,

We bear the weight of everything.

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Spectrum Sound Bitez

Unapologetic Unbroken Banner

We do this not with more division-but with a fierce, unifying integrity. We become each other's help. We build a justice system that actually serves the vulnerable. We remember the names of the lost... and we build a nation worthy of their memory.

The path is hard. But the choice is clear. We choose the hard right over the easy wrong. We choose each other over the forces trying to pull us apart.

We choose this country-not as a perfect union, but as a project we are forever pledged to perfect. Together.

May we find the wisdom. May we find the courage.

Hostile Takeover.

Black Pearl Spectrum Wave Publishing.

Tyrant’s Covenant:

Tiberius Island

Black Pearl

Blaq Roc Forecast

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2026

Blac Roc Forecast Vol. 1 trailer portrays a haunting monologue that reveals the traumatic childhood of a retired ,U.S. Navy SEAL,veteran who, under hypnosis, uncovers buried horrors from his past. Adopted into an apparently idyllic middle-class family in 1979, his life behind the picket-fence facade was actually a front for hidden abuse and psychological terror.

The narrative centers on "Tiberius Island," where his adoptive family vacationed—a place that became the origin of recurring nightmares. The story connects his personal trauma to a broader, historical pattern of tyranny, drawing direct parallels to the cruel excesses of Roman emperors like Tiberius and Caligula. It suggests that the cycles of abuse, power, and hidden violence have been repeated throughout history and continue in modern elite circles.

The monologue blends personal confession with historical allegory, exposing how psychological wounds fester across generations and how structures of power often hide dark, exploitative rituals.

—

Credit: Published by Spectrum |

Writer: Black Pearl

Blaq Roc Forcast Vol. I

A MAN BEHIND THE DREAM

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Gushman’s Birth

As the dust through dawn,

A wise man lives on

The hourglass

Turns position

On the right clockwise

clock

Tick

Tock

Somehow the sound

played for the entire

night the clouds

shifted into

a dark violet-blue sky

The temperature increased;

The night was so dry and mystical.

Mambo’s house was beaten,

by the heat.

The breeze from the shorelines

Cancel their night visit.

Suddenly,

the sound of lightning flashes

It clasped.

It had broken the limbs’

fall of the trees

The hastened massive rain;

Then shocking

of the rain came abruptly.

While the clock resumed

His position on 11:11

Tick

Tock,

synchronized from my

Late Grandpa’s

heirloom pocket watch.

Shortly, the depressed lightening

had stopped

until the gush of water trickling way down below the maternal

mother’s knees

The mother swiftly

gave a premature birth

To feeble lad;

his folded hands clutched towards

the placenta is so tight,

Like a nestle blanket

As memory serves,

The accessory from his cord remain

The baby voiced an intense brawl

Mambo is afraid of what she had saw

Mambo was astonished at the miraculous/// mysterious

delivery ( Gushman’s Birth)

The oracle foretold:

Mambo declared,

“This child shall be the brilliant Man alive!”

Gushman was his name

From the Lord’s hand, consecrate the wisdom birth until his tragic passing,

Gushman,

Humanitarian

Well-grounded being

Strategy life obstacles as

he played the chess game

Upheld his promise

A nobleman as king Author

Leads his knights on the roundtable

He lived by his cardinal rule

Associates his friends and love-ones

Configure the circle until it leaves a minute speck

Any enemy have dare interfere in their affairs

Gushman would be reticently served cold as their rivals’ heads on a Sterling silver platter

Thank God,

He could only sit at the table alongside his enemies.

Gushman denied breaking bread with any opponents

No, disrespect to the highest power’s beliefs

Therefore, Gushman’s soul cried

That isn’t me!

Gushman replied on the Lord’s master plans which landed upon the beholder’s hands

Locus, the community to the

Angle Square Ave, Spanish, Jamaica, and Northeast, United States of America

Inscribed on his gravemarker as “Gushman the brilliant man alive”!

Gushman: The Man Behind A Dream

Volume I

Author: Black Pearl

Vocal: Black Pearl

Soundtrack producer: Jahmala Downer ( Jah Lion Music Productions)

Sound Engineer Wazir Wiz ( Wazir Wiz Music )

Executive producer: Mordecai

Campbell, ZHL Collections, Inc.

Co producer: Black Rose Pearl

, Rose Quartz Manifestos production

,Spectrum Wave Media,

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright 2024-2026

Keep your head above the water.

Press, prize.

Keep on,

keep on,

keep along. 


Press, rise,

keep on, keep on, keep on. Prize, prize Keep your head above the water. Press prize. 
Peace shall be still.

BLACK PEARL

Spectrum wave Publishing

Copyright@2024

Our only guide

you and I,

which equals us.

Keep on,

Keep on,

your head above the water.

Press,

rise!

Press,

We shall overcome.

Oh,

only the strong shall

survive,

And the weak remain calm.

As you look over your shoulder,

there's another man's crime.

Weak gets weak

Terrorism is now on the rise!

Fascism,

Trash against our people.

Allow us to sing,

sing our song.

Can you believe the heat?

Can you feel the heat?

Our kitchen is too hot, gunshots.

Have us living in a birdcage.

Press rise.

We press for peace

then warm.

Boiling blood broils

Good grief!

Press on.

Mm

Listen up!

Mr Taxman,

We demand the rich man.

High taxes, pay your own debt.

The rich man must learn to release

some money out of their pockets.

We may not be the Jeffersons.

Some of us may not make

it in the big leagues.

Finance is crying.

The sun is still shining.

That's fine.

We're crossing the picket line.

We are about to fetch

the well as well before it runs dry.

We just fired up.

Blood broils rich man to spoil.

Press blaze.

Our heart is still crying.

We can't even say good night.

I still believe

we are going…..,

to still shine

our blood broils.

Press blaze.

We need more motivation.

When our blood broils,

it's time to release

the blazing of inferno.

You want more.

We are tired of the war.

Press on to remain strong.

Our blood broils

blood problem

shall be dismissed.

We're going to,

we're going to seal

it with a big kiss

but I rather see

our people smile

even when the sun doesn't shine

our blood broils.

When our blood broils,

fire is going

we're still yearning.

We're still waiting

for a very long while.

It's time to press blaze.

Press raise

it is beyond the prize.

We are living on

land known as the modern Babylon.

We are no longer

living in depression.

We demand progression.

Blood raise

blood broils like a pressure pie.

Our blood,

our blood broils.

It's the music

for the People's human anthem.

It's the music

for the people's human anthem.

Gain back!

Our prize travel

for a wide press wise.

Keep your eyes on the prize.

Welcome to the Gulla War.

Do you want more?

How many soldiers

Alligator Alcatraz

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Grasping for

Air

We refuse to crawl

stones are broken

Straws

Off from

a camel’s back

We are no longer

Having our backs

Against the wall

Maroons

Long Ranger

Black Star

Black Seminole

Buffalo soldiers

Freedman’s

Gulla

Tragedy

Scarcity

stories

All

Hidden behind

Google Maps

While the Elephant

In the room,

Gop is

Antagonist

Opp

Once again

Snatching

Other people’s property

Foreign / domestic

Worst nightmare

Richie Rich

Hides stones

Hands

Never clean

Chelsea honor

Greedy robber

Double dipping

Against

Our commodity

Knives piecred

Our Back

Whips and chain

Rising Kane

Steel prices

Stove top oven

Twilight Ozone

replays Rome

No place like home

With no

Space/// time

No peace mind

No mountain

To climb

Gotta

Find a place

Nowhere to hide

Frame us at

For the crime

Advertise

Who’s looking out? ( uncut)

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

We ain’t looking back x3

( vibration echo)

With our hands clean

As we beat the scene,

Their kingdom

Tears down.

We watch them

Make an Attempt to

Flee the scene,

Kingdown all

Crumbling down

Who’s looking out?

It is not a mortal kombat

It malicious attack

Optimum trains

Crashing planes

It is a cultural shock

This is insane

Too busy

( tapping….

our phones

Too layoff

DE I

Return

Cat in the hat

Searching

Seizing

Hardly

Afford

our homes

We demand

Who’s looking out ?

don’t let go!

We gonna tear

Your kingdom down

We ain’t looking back!

Too many leaders

Spectrum Wave studio 1212

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2026

Chess rules

within In these streets

bargains our fate

Hard to analyze like

Quantum sciences

While the

Jackals grin

aren’t silent,

Pay it in forward

taxes in advance

Losers draw your

Dividends

(Throw away the towel)

Warrant shall be sent

To the rich

Hurry up

Quick!

No time to waste

Hands us

Our golden plates.

You're dismissed!

As the door closes,

Don’t turn around

You are no longer

Welcome here anymore

All our heavy burdens

Are lifted.

Mission confirmed

Checkmate……..,

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave publishing

Copyright@2026

Belly up ,

250

Dynasty

Games

Are over

No longer looking

Over our shoulders

We ain’t gonna

Taking anymore

Stand and deliver

Our fortune is here

No more stealing

Our thunder

Our grass is far greener

Tall enough

Chop them down

We are

No longer

diving under

markers precede

Your position,

Even though

We uninvited

Annually Balls

Similar to

Duke and Dutchess,

On your mark,

Get set!

gun blazes up

into the air

Ricochet sound

beams the power

Supersonic waves

Penetration in your ears

We kept our boots

Strap all the way up

like a tightrope

tuck at the soles

Of ours shoes.

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

To whom

it may concern,

It is our turn!

We have nothing

To lose

We won’t get burn

We complete

Our task

as A- team

More like

MacGyver,

Yet it soon

Shall all

Come to pass

(As subjects

don’t reject

Our plead)

We sincerely/ humbly ask…,)

Please,

Complete your task

deliver this message

towards dirty

Rotten fowls, by making

them a primary

examples.

(Bottom feeders)

They won’t have

Anymore

Dynasty……,

Karma is bitch

She is also

my best friend

I said this message again

Karma them shall bare

Fresh from the oven

While sauce broiling

Streaming well hot

Like the witch’s pot

When Hansel and Gretel,

Wipe her out.

Watch us win

Our sweepstakes,

Here’s a gift.

From all of us to you,

( cheers to the rich)

Have them eat cake…..,

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Grace stands

behind twelve

to 3,000

passovers

Time after

Time

We are tired of

Standing at

Imaginary line

We all have

already seen

the signs

It is not good at all!

It is not over

Whatever ,

Grace humbly

Waits for

Man made

Pledge wall

While nobel

one’s ( savage beasts )

insert

Written

Passages

In the

wall,

However,

On the other side

Uncompromised

against the

genuine Tribes

Eyes are gateway

Within the soul

You can see it

in all their

Eyes )

Savage beast

DNA belongs

from a man

Who started

D-day,

caused

the universe

a big ugly curse

in 2’s

That is the very reasons

Why the world gets

Screwed

Savage breasts

rage war

Near the stone

wall

decline pennies

afford sack full

of dimes

, by promoting

endless crimes

Savages beast

masked

Ultra beauty

Climb the

corporate

Usury

Hi jack

Jacob’s ladder

Grace belongs

In first place

I meant to

Make a final

Strike

Out loud

avoid

I have known

My place was

Third base

I rather not

Take food off

Anyone's plate

If something not

Yours,

It never could be

Yours

Colossal Rolling Stones

Built Artificial wall as

Sacrificial pledge

blanket spread

from head to palms

Savage beasts

Claim others

emotion;

Said they

don’t belong

Near pledge

Wall

Grace never

begs, borrow,

Steal. Her

Passion

Consistently

real

, by hoping to heal

tomorrow from

all sorrows

One more

chance

Fate destine to

have this dance

As sundown

Soon as

Night falls

draw us

closer

To a night light

As we (lost chosen one )

Place

Our palms like a magnet

As we gravitate

On the dry concrete

Cinder blocks

We definitely

won’t be shame

at all

the weeping wall

Strengthen us

That is if

Savage beasts

Don’t stand

Chance

In our way

At all!

Some of us... know the difference

Between right and wrong.

Even if our rights are

Written in stone.

It seems our... lives...

Ne-ver matter to them at all!

Because at the very end...

The last ones get first dibs.

Sa-vage breasts pre-tend... to be...

The chosen ones.

To be... or not to be...

That is the mor-al question.

Their wrongs are strong... by...

Ta-king it all...

E-ven if the truth... resur-fa-ces...

Nailed down... at the wai-ling wall...

Nailed down... at the wail-ing wall...

Some of us...

Know…

All resurface at the wailing wall

Spanish Town — For Jamaica, For the World

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright @2026

Spanish Town,

No time for sleeping.

Wake —

The globe is turning,

And your heart,

Solid gold,

Beats in rhythm with ours.

You did nothing wrong.

You are the children of the light —

Green, Black, Gold raised

Against every Red, White, Blue

That ever tried to own the dawn.

This is not just your story.

It is Kingston’s. It is Port-au-Prince’s.

It is Lagos’s, it is Nairobi’s.

It is every town that remembers

What was taken,

What was sown in tears,

What grows now in defiant colors.

The buccaneers are not gone —

They wear new masks,

Carry new papers,

But their hunger is ancient.

They came for your mother’s land,

For her rivers, her seas.

They come still,

Wherever shadows swallow pride.

But listen —

When it rains in Spanish Town,

Mama Africa weeps in every time zone.

Her children are scattered,

But the fire is one.

From Trench Town to favela,

From township to reservation,

The same flame burns.

So raise your flag,

But also your gaze.

See the chain of hills beyond these hills —

The struggle is your family.

The resilience your inheritance.

You must not go down.

We must not go down.

Hold up your crown —

It fits on every head

That has refused to bow.

When our fires burn,

They signal across oceans.

No one is hungry alone.

No one is lonely forever.

The night is shared,

But so is the morning.

Spanish Town —

You are not just a place.

You are a pulse.

A proof.

A promise echoing

In every corner of the earth

Where people rise,

Remembering who they are,

And whose they are.

---

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

The grand maestro of my lineage was bestowed a gift—

a ghost writer, penning songs across every rift,

a teacher, a guru in music.

Before He died,

then touched my forehead; the blessing implied.

I didn’t understand. Learning my ABC’s,

hooked on phonics, I read with ease,

adapting the spirit of poetry, then notes—

Mozart, Beethoven, gospel was in my throat.

My Aeiou made me harmonize, I became the flute.

I made the music, then learned the dispute,

the business side, so no one could be sly.

One day, a letter. A proposal. I

Read it all down to the finest print,

Googled the terms, saw the devil in it.

My lawyer said, “Don’t sign unless you will be burnt.”

I refused the X, watched the envelope turn,

then dusted my hands, returned to routine—

until one late evening, a haunting scene.

A spook crept through my basement door,

no knock, no warrant. I slept with one eye,

ears detecting scuffs in kitchen pipes nearby.

My ringcam led him to my living room floor.

He put on a blackface mask, similar to minstrel-show.

tap-dancing our two-step, mocking our brand,

making desperate attempts to take my hand

as if we were old friends—I already knew.

Dennis was my menace. He had stolen

our grand maestro’s inventions,

telephone, light, automobile, assembly line,

freight trains, the clock—all c as they claimed.

We argued all night; he sang another of my tunes.

The piano man claimed he sang out of tune.

How the hell was he claimed

that he was original Godfather

Above our people?

Masters. Royalties. From pop, rock,

heavy metal, blue jazz, to hip-hop, rap,

funk, rhythm & blues, scat, reggae, dancehall, country—wrap

it all up. Finally, his identity revealed:

The clown's face was unreal. He wiped it off, his dark painted on face

and red lips. When the music was gone,

it never faded from our people’s songs.

It came back to where it rightfully belonged.

The burglar left ashame; he also wished that he never have stolen

From our people.While our

accolades well tacked

Right back on our wall,

It was a big

giveaway—because they were never his at all.!

BANQUET

BEQUEST

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

The spiders came out to play, and released themselves out of their shadows from companions’ beds. From the North mangrove a pipleline down under the path, they came flirting with the Anansi spider ( island woman tinted in disguise) who gave them the rider’s passage. They moved like thieves in the night, and a native man stopped his own sight—blinded, he failed to see his people brought down by the same divisions of language, ethnicity, and race. But these were spiders who resided in different places.

On 1/3/2025, after the ball drop, they spun him

Into a tightly coiled spindle. The man

was captured by his enemies’ web. The spiders snatched his plate for the same lubrication drawn from the Earth, one of their main goals; their other prize was removing him from his position, trapping him in their web by exiling him from his own land. They changed the driver’s wheel—the Black Widow

Spider claimed the throne, having sacrificed her own kind for the Nobel Prize. There was no shame in her game; pride had to win at all costs, even if cheating was admissible.

SPIDERS

BANQUET

BEQUEST

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

Black Pearl

Precious Jam Gemstone

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2026

We are not what you expect us to be—

We are human, not machine, not philosophy,

Not idolatry draped in history’s deceit.

Since 1492, the story’s been untrue,

A narrative spun to make the powerful sweet.

And when the wise one spoke, his warning grew—

A prophecy of fire, a people led astray,

A house in flames, and nothing left to say.

Oh, be careful of the spiders in the dark,

They do not only bite—they seize the soul,

They snatch you from the path, they spin you stark,

Alive until you lose your own control.

Alive until you weave what you despise—

A dirty, dangerous, deceptive web of lies.

What goes around returns on heavy feet,

Yes, all their towers come tumbling down.

Oh, what a tangled web they weave, how neat,

When first they practice to deceive the town.

We will be what we desire to be—

No longer listening to your twisted truth.

Careful, those spiders snatch you silently,

Just as they caught you in the days of youth.

It may not be your fault, the spin, the dread,

Alive until you join them, mind and thread.

Children should be seen—must be seen—

Children must be heard, their voices clean.

Children, be encouraged, speak the word,

For they are children—not a distant world.

They are the future, trembling in the sun,

Where is their protection? What have you done?

They are our blessing, fragile as the dawn,

Never reject them, never harm, nor leave them torn.

Be careful, those spiders, watching from the wall,

They may still snatch you, though you stand so tall.

It may not be your fault, this silent crime,

You spin, alive, caught in the grime of time.

You spin, alive, until you wear their name,

Dirty, deceptive, woven into shame—

A web of lies where once your spirit flew,

A pattern borrowed, and a self untrue.

No longer will you tell us what to do—

You, too, are trapped, a spider in the dew,

Tangled in deception, in the lies you spun,

A prisoner beneath a cold, dead sun.

And what goes around comes around once more ways than one.

And all of it is tossed right to the floor.

Oh, what a tangled web, a web of lies,

A web that falls beneath forgiving skies.

A web of lies, a whisper, and a sigh—

Even the spider, one day, after treacherous deeds.

While giving birth,

Spider will die,

by their own web of lies

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Copyright@2025

Some call me bitter

I’m just in rage

I don’t see anything

, but an

Empty page

Of violet woman

Standing alone

One stem

Where foot

Is the root

Surrounded

By soil from

The earth

Separated

Fence from

Other side of the world

On whatever

Oh, well

Different strokes

For different folks

Other folks are

Being treated as joke

Moral truth

The world at large

Collateral damage

I still live bitter

These days

Because they

Treat my people

As if we are slaves

Smiles don’t

Belong where

I come from

I was born

This way…

I remain relevant

I know how to

Behave

It within

My skin

No, I don’t need

Any medicine

This all comes

From the melanin

DNA which all

Belongs within my skin

That is how the

Story begins

All within my skin

---

A Bridge cross on

Whatever,

When things are not right,

I could see the light

At the first sight

Until I became

A woman

Now I understand

All men’s evil

Made as a nomad’s land

Unsuccessfully plan

As they all assembled,

It didn’t control me

I became compelled

By the light

Light never could

Blind me

Upon, it made me wiser

Than I could ever be

It could never

Break my spirit

No, no, no

They could never

See me fall

All compelled

Within my skin

Don’t you know

There is going

To be a revolution

---

A massive bloodshed

It shall be released

By our skins

In what is inside

We can no longer hide

I watch them standby

Provide the verdict

Because the murder

They wrote

Our fate has been

Tested

Experimented

We won’t be

Taken for granted

Without a doubt

These are signs of times

Be prepared for a major

Blast

Succotash this

Our skin

No longer will

Be the next man’s

Meal ticket

I will say it again

We seek revenge

As our tempers

Get loose

While they had taken

It all, it would last call

They won’t be

Having a ball

Destiny relieve

Our final redemption

Shall be our laugh

After they have published

The draft,

I saw the dragon

Rise above the sea

Ten horns

Ten crowns

Seven heads

When the dragon

Gave the beast

His sword,

At this final hour,

As the bell strikes

Twelve times three

As the spirit invests

Bind within me

All this had happened

Which lies within my skin

That’s how the story begins

---

Maybe live in high class

May not pas

The brown

Paper bag test

Combs may not

get a pass

Trust me,

Trouble never lasts

Every thing

Lies within my skin

This belongs to Black Pearl Spectrum Wave Publishing copyright@2025

Poetry flows, no instruments, no melody , no harmony as you hear the lyrics, just meditate in your mind , by listening ……,line by line ; strand by strand just play as we go !

This city’s a pity.

Places grew scary.

Unemployment and crime share the same loaded dice.

Politicians are thirsty,

itching for money like

Three blind mice

riding the New York City

Subway train ,

while our children are left

far behind like

NYC’s pipeline.

We are the children of the forgotten streets,

Where love’s a misplaced joke that no one repeats.

It hangs like a rope when all hope is gone,

It never-replaced echo we walk upon.

In these streets, the curriculum’s cold and incomplete,

left out

No blanket

This belongs to Spectrum Wave Publishing copyright@2025

BLACK PEARL

SPECTRUM WAVE PUBLISHING

SPECTRUM WAVE MUSIC ENT.

COPYRIGHT@2025

And when her last satellite loop faded from the screen,

A second, colder storm moved in, bureaucratic and mean.

The world’s nations, in panic, issued a global ban:

“No travel from the Sisters’ lands.”

Not for aid, not for family, not for a helping hand.

They banned the flight, banned the boat,

Cut the sisters adrift, left them barely afloat.

They called it “biosecurity,” a “quarantine zone,”

But it was a sentence to suffer and die alone.

The Sisters’ Pact: Forged in the Flood

But in the mud, in the salt, in the crushing debris,

A pulse remained. An old, familiar key.

Haiti, from her ruin, remembered the weapon she’d won.

She did not send a ship, or a gun.

She sent the blueprint of freedom, etched in spirit and blood.

Cuba, though crippled, sent her doctors into the sludge,

Nurses who understood surviving a judge.

Jamaica sent rhythm, the deep, grounding beat,

To organize feet when there was no food to eat.

They became a Triune Coast, a single, wounded will.

Their liberation was no longer a political bill,

But a spiritual fact, proven under the wheel.

The world banned their bodies, their passports, their flight,

But it could never ban the soul that rose in that night—

The soul that was three, yet utterly one,

The Sisters of the Scourge, who could never be undone.

---

BLACK PEARL

SPECTRUM WAVE PUBLISHING

SPECTRUM WAVE MUSIC ENT.

This was not anyone’s imagination.

She was the cyclops who opened all

Four of her eyes, by everyone's surprise, were preparatory

She did not form over warm Atlantic waves by chance.

She was conjured from data, given a lethal dance.

Her eye was a perfect, predatory ring of cold,

Her rain bands were razors, her story foretold.

First, she made landfall in Haiti.

She found the hills already scarred, the earth already frail.

She did not bring wind; she brought a tsunami of mud.

Entire villages—Gonaïves, Jacmel—were swallowed in a thud.

The statistical report, cold and neat:

8,500 confirmed souls are missing in the concrete-silt sheet.

Not just deaths, but erasures.

A schoolhouse with 200 children became a mass grave engineered by pressures.

300,000 instantly homeless, a number so vast,

Living in a slurry of the present and past.

Then, she pivoted to Cuba.

Here, her tool was not mud, but the sea itself.

A storm surge, 30 feet high, a watery shelf.

It did not flood Havana; it scoured it clean.

The Malecón was shattered, a skeletal scene.

Colonial plazas became salt-water tombs,

As the power grid drowned in the engineering rooms.

The death toll, officially, was 3,200,

But the true devastation was in the aftermath’s hour:

1.2 million without shelter, without a dry bed,

A nation of engineers, left with nothing but dread.

Finally, she settled over Jamaica.

Her method here was water, weight, and wind.

For seven days, she spun and never thinned.

She parked over the Blue Mountains’ sacred spine

And wrung the sky out, line by line.

Forty inches of rain in a week.

The Yallahs River became a roaring, brown streak,

Carrying cars, carrying roofs, carrying hope away.

Landslides peeled the green skin off the day,

Burying communities like Portland Cottage whole.

The death toll was 1,750 on the scroll,

But the homelessness was a pervasive blight:

Every third person is lost in the island’s long night.

For example, A 90-year-old woman, Miss Clémence,

Who had survived dictators and poverty’s expense,

Now slept sitting up in a rusted car,

Her lifetime of photos warping in a jar

beside her on the passenger seat.

Her home was a memory, her street was a mud-slicked beat.

A father, wife, and mother-in-law

Had built a shelter from an abandoned car

To stay warm. He felt hopeless

As he held his beautiful newborn in his arms.

The house had blown down due to the crisis that Melissa

had created. She unapologetically turned her back

. By October 2025, the month that survivors won’t forget.

She was described as a home/ land invader

because she had left a total ( highly cost-effective) mess behind.

BLACK PEARL

SPECTRUM WAVE PUBLISHING

SPECTRUM WAVE MUSIC ENT.

COPYRIGHT@2025

A story about three sisters,

Separated from birth.

They later discovered their identity,

But they were only partially granted their liberation.

Jamaica was first captured,

Snatched by the sea-wolves’ hands,

A jewel traded between pirate bands,

Then claimed by a distant Crown’s demands.

She accepted the Crown’s gilded wealth instead,

A pact of sugar, rum, and silent dread.

Haiti was cast into devastation’s shame,

Born from the flame of a sacred, revolutionary name.

She built a fortress of determination,

Forged in the fire of a nation’s creation.

She claimed the secret weapon: Liberty,

And gave it to every link in the island chain,

A righteous scream against the rain of pain.

“Fight,” she whispered, “for every right.”

And her sisters listened in the night.

Cuba played the longest game,

The eldest, bearing a strategic name.

A republic in heart, but not in name,

She stayed behind, shouldering the blame—

The sacrifice, taking the bread crumbs instead,

While a world of empires turned overhead.

As the world turned, the years bled on.

Haiti was betrayed by the very spawn

Of her own freedom—children who worked not for a dime,

Who twisted her legacy, making the world unkind.

The toxic impact, a systemic imperial curse,

Waged feudal wars against the indigenous.

Colonial children, with papers and laws,

Tossed the original owners from their homes and caused.

This impact manifests as a historical trauma’s stain,

A cultural erasure, a persistent, dull pain.

Colonial structures, in modern disguise,

In courts and in agencies, under bureaucratic skies,

Relentlessly whitewash our cultural historic bequests,

Stealing our future, putting our souls to the test.

The forthcoming children of the heritage,

No longer updated their technology’s charge.

Their data was transferred, not into light,

But into panoramic sonic waves of might,

Used to enquire for minerals deep in the land,

Mapped as business enterprises, sold to the highest hand.

The skilled, trained mission? To persuade the indigenous,

Bidding them aid with a treacherous kiss,

So they could build a modern, pioneer frontier,

On the graves of ancestors, fueled by greed and fear.

The sisters made several attempts to warn

Their other island brothers, from before the storm.

But temptation brought wealth to the ruling nobles’ doors,

While the natives remained the true sufferers of wars.

Prices rose like floodwaters, taxes piled like stone,

Heavy burdens began to cripple the backbone.

And when more natural resources immersed the scene,

This is where the greed became obscenely keen.

In environmental laboratories, cold and stark,

Scientists gave birth to a new kind of dark:

A Cyclops with Four Eyes, a calculated swarm,

A weather-made weapon, a man-made form.

An imitation of a storm, with a feminine name,

Programmed for a singular, devastating aim.

Her name was Hurricane Melissa.

1. Welfare Queen (2024)

Your latest release — a bold, socially-conscious track that delves into themes of resilience, identity, and the societal perceptions of strength and survival. Blending hip-hop rhythms with soulful vocals, "Welfare Queen" challenges stereotypes and empowers listeners through raw storytelling and uplifting production.

2. Five Boroughs (2024)

3. Empires Shall Fall (2024)

4. Babylon Time Machines (2024)

5. Blood Rice Diamonds (Sierra Leone) (2024)

6. Samara’s Song (2024)

7. Her Eyes Never Dry (2024)

8. Lifetime Country (2024)

9. Back to Africa Eden (2024)

10. Fire is Burning (2024)

11. Forever Mama’s Gardens (2024)

12. Mother Nature (2024)

13. If God Was a Bullet (2024)

14. Dove Confession (2024)

15. Daughter of Gambling Man (2024)

16. 277 Clash Flash Pass Future (2024)

17. Dragon's Eye (2024)

18. Orange Man (2024)

19. Body Snatchers Intrusion (2024)

20. Mirror Mirror (2024)

21. Epic (2024)

22. Dead Man Tales (2024)

23. Sandman (Long Version) feat. Precious Jam Gemstone / Jahmala Downer (2025)

24. Sandman Radio feat. Precious Jam Gemstone / Jahmala Downer (2025)

25. Black Holocaust (2025)

26. The Melting Pot Band (2021)

27. Welcome to the Gorilla War (2023)

28. Sound Wave Themes (2024)

29. The Vision of Black Pearl (2021)

30. Reparations (2023)

31. Spectrum Waves Music 21 (2023)

32. Do You Know About My Skin? (2021)

33. In the Water (2023)

34. The Relic (2023)

35. The Bullet (2023)

36. Pray (2023)

37. Thot Culture Delete (2023)

38. The Tall Tale of the Gatekeeper (2023)

39. RVJ Game (Original Game Soundtrack) (2023)

40. Welcome 2 Gorilla War (2023)

41. Spectrum Waves Music-EP (2023)

42. Unsung (2023)

43. Hot Box (2023)

44. Quiet Before the Storm (2023)

45. War (2023)

46. In This World (2023)

47. Free (2023)

48. As the World Cries (2023)

49. Your Love Got Me Drinking (2023)

50. Angelic Message (2023)

51. Ancestors Are Calling (2023)

---

Newest Highlight: "Welfare Queen"

"Welfare Queen" is your most recent single, released in 2024. It’s a powerful blend of hip-hop and soul, featuring introspective lyrics that tackle social issues, self-worth, and empowerment. The song reflects your signature style of merging poetic storytelling with contemporary soundscapes, making it both a thought-provoking and motivating listen.

---

🎵 Listen now on Apple Music:

https://music.apple.com/us/artist/black-pearl/100958952

Recently, I worked to pull together a complete list of my released songs — and told you, seeing them all laid out was a powerful moment. From ‘The Melting Pot Band’ in 2021 to my latest single, ‘Welfare Queen’, every track tells a story. Some are about social justice, some are for the children, some are for the ancestors — but all of them come from a real place.

Speaking of ‘Welfare Queen’ — this is my newest release. It’s a song about resilience, identity, and breaking through the labels society puts on us. It’s hip-hop, it’s soul, it’s raw truth. And it’s available right now on Apple Music.

If you want to explore my full discography — over 50 songs and growing — I’ll drop the link in the show notes. From ‘Do You Know About My Skin?’ to ‘Black Holocaust’ coming in 2025, every piece is a chapter in this journey.

And you know what? This isn’t just about promotion. It’s about connection. Music is how I speak when words aren’t enough. So if you’re listening and you feel that — go check it out. Support independent art. Let’s grow together.

Now, back to today’s topic…”

The poem, “Blue Saturday,” is a visceral, lyrical elegy for Sean Bell, a 23-year-old Black man from Queens, New York, who was killed nearly for two decades on November 26, 2006—the morning of his scheduled wedding day. Unarmed and leaving his bachelor party, he was shot 50 times by NYPD officers. The poem transforms that day from one of celebration into a permanent landmark of grief, what you name “Blue Saturday.”

The piece moves through the shattered timeline—from the planned ritual of “jumping the broom” to the broken morning stained with violence. It weaves in cultural echoes of pain through references to Prince’s “Purple Rain” and 2Pac, and it ties Sean’s story to a longer lineage of lives lost to police violence, naming Amadou Diallo, Timothy Stansbury, and others.

At its heart, the poem captures the collateral devastation of such a loss: the bride’s veil turning “from white to black,” the family circles broken (“Child to a mother / Son to a father”), and a community left “speechless” yet connected in mourning. It also touches on the failure of systems—body cameras not on, a “shield forever against us”—and the unresolved cry for justice.

You released this poem as part of a broader creative project titled “As the World Cries,” published on November 24, 2023, under Spectrum Waves Music Entertainment (Black Pearl). This release serves not only as a poetic memorial but as an act of public remembrance, ensuring many

Human lives had faced tragic losses such as Sean Bell’s story and the ongoing trauma of his family—especially his fiancée, Nicole P. Bell—are held in the public consciousness.

The essence of the poem is its raw, unflinching blend of personal lament and public protest. It doesn’t just recount a tragedy; it immerses the reader in the emotional aftermath—the shock, the cyclical grief, and the weary resilience of those left behind. The “Blue Saturday” refrain acts as a haunting anchor, symbolizing how a single day can become synonymous with irreversible loss.

For you, the poet, this piece is also a personal recapitulation of the shock and sorrow you felt when you first heard the news. It channels that moment of national tragedy into intimate, enduring art—making sure that Sean Bell is remembered not just as a headline, but as a father, son, husband, and native son whose value and humanity are forever etched in verse.

The poem, and its release as “As the World Cries,” stands as a testament to the power of art to mourn, to document, and to demand remembrance in a world that too often forgets.

---

Was father, son, and husband,

Who gave legendary values

To city streets—Queens, New York.

The native son’s tragic loss

Brought the whole entire world

A devastation.

He lost his life by

the treacherous hands

that didn’t show any remorse.

The Multiple bullets gaged

While others so happen ran

Cover away from the stage.

Due to the

reckless irresponsibly

Only attention towards

the men in blue,

Of course,

His family did not

receive any justice,

But a remembrance that left

Permanent scars;

For several years

All come to pass

Until the anniversary

(memorial)

Blue Saturday.

Nicole P Bell

the widow of

Sean Bell

Shares her

Husband's last days

On earth

In a Drama film

Aftershock: Nicole P. Bell Story

It is a 2025 drama film( real story ), about the events surrounding the killing of Sean Bell and the subsequent fight for justice led by his widow, Nicole P. Bell. It had a theatrical release in late November 2025 and is scheduled for digital release on December 15, 2025.

Blue Saturday (AS THE WORLD CRIES)

BLACK PEARL

SPECTRUM WAVE PUBLISHING

How do you feel when things

Is it about to get real?

As we toss and turn,

Eventually, we surely

Have not learned

Because

We still got burnt

When certain authorities

Have come at us with full force.

However, we stood there

Looking lost.

Blue Saturday,

Three days before the holiday.

A wedding was presumed—

A bride and groom

Were supposed

To jump over the broom.

It turned out

The saddest day.

Blue Saturday,

The world has ever lived,

Including his family,

Wife and kids.

It became a

Blue Saturday,

A day before Sunday,

Two days before Monday,

Before thirty days.

Dark clouds broke the morning.

---

Into silent nights,

Prince once sang How you

Leave us standing

In a lonely world,

So cold.

The heaviest

Led to purple rain.

Dove’s confession

Proceeded them,

Circling around:

Child to a mother,

Son of a mother,

Son to father,

Nephew to aunt,

and uncle,

Cousin to brother,

Brother to sister,

Grandson to grandparents,

Husband to wife,

Father to his children.

Blue Saturday,

The doves cried.

---Trigger warning

Please note that the following material

contains sensitive content.

Your discretion is advised."

The Blue Saturday

Hit a blow

Towards a blushing bride

Very hard.

Autumn leaves

Lied and observed the loss,

Soaked gore

In the world’s borough.

South side, the city streets

Mourned the tragic loss

That proclaimed his innocence,

Passing a valuable legend.

2Pac harmonized,

Remastered by Mr. Mister:

Take these broken wings,

Because I saw the spirit

Within his eyes.

We were so speechless

That Blue Saturday

Disconnected the community.

When his wings came,

He had learned to fly again.

---

Remind you:

While this event was totally heartbreaking,

The team, band of three,

Had served to be guarded

With their body armor,

But the BWC’s were not on,

Which left a huge suspicion.

The satellite and other witnesses

Panorama-filmed the view.

The universe evidenced,

Convinced the bullet holes

Were definitely solved

the main clues

However,

once again

Blue Saturday

The shield

would forever

be against us.

Neither our

Allies,

nor friends

Amadou Diallo,

Vernard Davis,

Charmene Picketts,

Alberta Sprugill,

Timothy Stansbury…

As the families felt the heat,

The list goes on.

The best of times

May land all in threes,

As the worst of times

We always remember:

An innocent man.

---

THE REST OF THE POEM

&SONG APPLE MUSIC

SUPPORT MY BUSINESS

https://music.apple.com/us/artist/black-pearl/100958952

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Copyright@2025

Welfare Queen

Black Pearl

Precious Jam Gemstone

Rose Black Pearl

The term "welfare queen" is not a person, but a political ghost conjured to justify systemic cruelty. This collection of poems seeks to lay that ghost to rest by giving voice to the women it was designed to silence. Through these verses, I step beyond the cheap caricature and into the lives behind the label—lives marked not by greed, but by the quiet, tireless work of survival. This is not a celebration of a title, but an excavation of its damage, a reclaiming of dignity from the ruins of a stereotype. It is an invitation to see the faces and hear the stories of those who were never meant to have either. LYRICS ARE DISPLAYED ON APPLE MUSIC https://music.apple.com/us/artist/black-pearl/100958952

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Copyright@2025

I am proud to announce that this vital story is being brought to life across multiple media to ensure its message reaches as wide an audience as possible.

· Song: Welfare Queen

· Artist: Black Pearl (@official Black Pearl Artist)

· Lyrics: Black Pearl

· Music Production: Wazir Wiz (Instrumental)

· Co-Production: Jah Lion Music, Precious Jam Gemstone

· Audiobook & Narrative Production: Rose Quartz Manifestos

Formats Coming Soon:

· Music Single: Experience the driving rhythm and haunting melody that underscores this urgent message.

· Audiobook Version: A powerful narrative reading of the lyrics, designed to immerse the listener in the story and its symbolism.

Presented by: Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment & Sound Music Bitez

---

Welfare Queen (Lyrics)

Black Pearl

[Full Lyrics from the provided document are inserted here]

History discloses...

...Best to believe

Persistent

Unseen. Forces

brought

Welfare Queen

Afterlife

Made them

All

Eternally

said goodbye

---

This project is more than a song; it's a manifesto. It’s a declaration that the true cost of systemic greed is being tallied, and the original "Mama"—our people, our land, our spirit—will not be silenced.

@official Black Pearl Artist

BLACK PEARL

Facundo Alvarez

Inspired by Billy Nichols

COPYRIGHT@2023

Hot Box

Ovens scorning hot

Melting hot

Pressure release

Temperature rises

On all mankind

Cruelty to the innocent

Smiles

Pressure cooker pot

Fahrenheit well hot

Hot Box

Bodies are fried

Tarnished

Black and white

Sands

Black sands are in the dark

Underneath the shadows

In the Hot Box

While white sands are

Well demand

Compensation

Momentum

Well-structured museums

Built over the black sands

Building extreme streams of legacy

Western publication

Overall dedication to

Electronic

Streaming platforms

Black sands

On the other hand,

The Western farmers are

Gathering all for harvest

Bundles of plentiful

Technology expansion

Cellphones

Power batteries

Robots

Machine guns

Mass warfare

Standing mighty

Like Black Rock

Mortgages

Interest rates

Racism

Capitalism

Taxation

Emmett domain

Climate changes

Gas

Oil

Are inclined

Our people are remaining

On the poverty line

Million-dollar homes

Luxury cars

Every one destine

To be a star

Oh,

yeah,

You get

A fast car

You get

A fast

We are chopping down

All the trees

Forget about

the birds and the bees

Bondage is still

Percolating

On a sticky

Situation

Hot Box

Testing us

As experiment

Hypothesis

Operation

Black

Sand

Wipeout

Hot Box

Conclusion,

They are still stepping

on the black sands.’

backs

Hot Box

We are still being ignored

Excuse me,

Our stories are too boring

We sacrifice

For the right price

We are well in demand

Reside in tenements

Of a fry-up in a Hot Box

It is still piping

Ready for the right

season!

We are ready to be

Served for the main

Course

Options

Are none

No choice

No voice

Don’t get it twisted,

It is happening

Right now!

Oh,

Yeah

Hot Box

Hot Box

Yeah,

Hot Box

Hot Box

Hot Box

Yeah,

Yeah,

yeah,

Hot Box

yeah,

We must take power

Back

All men infinitely

will be free!

Right on,

SPECTRUM WAVE MUSIC ENT.

JAH LION MUSIC PRODUCTION

WAZIR WIZ MUSIC PRODUCTION

COPYRIGHT @2023

INSPIRED NOTES: BUILT LEGACY (HOT BOX)

Hot Box: More Than a Song – A Sonic Dedication to a Crisis

There's a common misconception about the term "hot box." Many people immediately think of a small, smoke-filled room. But my 2023 song, "Hot Box," produced under my artist name Black Pearl, was never about that. It was a deliberate and powerful metaphor for a global pressure cooker—specifically, the escalating humanitarian and economic crisis in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and the pervasive systems of oppression that fuel it.

The inspiration for this track has a rich musical lineage. I was deeply inspired by the classic funk sound of BT Express's 1974 hit, "Do It ('Til You're Satisfied)," written by Billy Nichols. While the addictive groove of that era was our jumping-off point, the beat and instrumentation we crafted with my collaborator, the talented Argentine freelance musician Facundo Alvarez, evolved into something entirely our own. It became a vessel for a much heavier message.

This wasn't a song for the dance floor; it was a folk-art dedication in a modern stream, using music as a platform to highlight uncomfortable truths. Released on October 13, 2023, "Hot Box" may not have charted, but its controversial lyrics and driving rhythm resonated with those who listened closely, drawing attention to the suffering in the Congo and similar crises happening in our own backyards in America.

The lyrics of "Hot Box" paint a stark picture of this global disparity. Here is the song in its entirety: "Hot Box" is a testament to the power of music as a tool for awareness. It’s a cry against ignorance and a demand to be heard. This piece is a formal dedication on behalf of Spectrum Waves Music & Entertainment and myself, Black Pearl—the original, the official.

Black Pearl

Precious jam Gemstone

Jahmala Downer

Wazir wiz

Mirror Man Moon

Gentle lost soul

Always

Heal us

Just one touch

With

His

Golden

Platinum

Diamonds

iTunes

Mirror man Moon

Plays the tambourine

and his guitar too

Sees the planes

day by day

Night by night

Crashing

Away

Burning grounds

centuries ago

Pharisees

Won't let them go!

Pharisees

Watch

Heritage

ran for cover

Watch them

Bleed

In the

Jordan river

beyond

the red/

Caribbean seas

Endless stories

Ban the words

peace

Post eviction

Signs upon

Gaza dreams

Mirror man Moon

Microphone

Hands longing

for the comfort

For his piano

Son

surely

You don’t

Understand

Medium

Claims

Absolute

Power

Money

Respect

Is

Meal

Ticket

to fame

Hides behind

Mad men’s

Game

Mirror man Moon

Watches

Earth’s

Trembles

Fans are

Singing

His itunes

They

don’t care about

Us

Pharisees’

Faces

Turn

Red

better

Not

dare

Shame

Nor

Say

their names

Even though

They have

Cheated

The World Cup

games

Medium

Would end

citizens

Claims

Smoke

screens

Blinds

Sock full

Of tears

decades

Over

Decades

Palestine's

Struggle

All these years

While mothers

Gave birth,

She lies

Under the

Rumble

Debris

She

Alongside

Many

Starving

With grief

From

a cold

Tales of war

Brought

death and dying

Lord,

Forgive me

Lord,

for crying

While the

Bomb shells

are flying,

Raffa,

She refuses

To draw back

Even though,

She has no

Fighting left

Man in the mirror

Man in the moon

Caribbean

Seas,

It still bleeds

Some more,

Alongside

Great Lakes

To

Gulf of Mexico

world

It's falling apart,

What are they fighting for?

Mirror man moon

His legacy still

Lives on too

Mirror man moon

I’m gonna rock

…….,

Mirror man moon

Mirror man moon

Mirror man moon

Spectrum Waves Music Entertainment

Sound Music Bitez

Jah Lion Music Production

Wazir Wiz Music Production

Copyright @2025

YOU MAY FIND THE WHOLE LYRICS: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/black-pearl/100958952

Mirror man moon

@OFFICALBLACKPEARLARTIST

MIRROR MAN MOON

Welcome @officalBlackPearl, I’m your host, Black Pearl. In today's segment, I want to introduce my single, "Mirror Man Moon." This is one of my inspired collections from Spectrum Wave Music Ent. I wrote the lyrics and co-produced with Wazir Wiz and Jahmala Downer (Jah Lion Music). This song was Electric.

Best that had blended with fuck, pop, discos, and Earth tones. Although this song is dedicated to/liberation of all countries around the world that have been facing economic, financial, and political issues, I just wanted to sing for them.

Similar to the one, only, and an amazing iconic, legendary Michael Jackson. Before I wrote my original lyric song, I was astonished when I heard from a TikTok content creator, by the name @Mia. Goddess. She had mentioned Michael had written a poem in Honor of Palestine. He also had a burning desire to convert the poem into a song. However, due to corporate politics, of course, I’m referring to his Music (record label ) company. They allegedly declined his music project.

When I pause and read his poem, I thought it was spectacular material. Therefore, I have taken the challenge to pursue one of his aspirations. I just closed my eyes and fantasized if I were Michael, about how I could start this song. I even gathered the best for Jah Lion. He arranged the harmony. Then Wazir wiz developed the sound. Altogether, each of us, with the help of telecommunication/ internet, gave birth to a wave. Ladies and Gentlemen, here are the lyrics: Mirror Man Moon @copyright 2025. This song isn’t all streaming music platforms, #Spotify, #Apple, #YouTube music, even on #TikTok, #Facebook, #Instagram.

ALL THESE SONGS BELONG TO BLACK PEARL /SPECTRUM WAVE MUSIC ENT.

Me, myself, and I ;

( the artist collectively, Black Pearl), Spectrum Wave Media presented a heartfelt tribute to the late Viola "Mama" Fletcher.

This segment opens a deep condolences and apologies to her family, honoring her legacy as a survivor of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre and a lifelong advocate for justice.

As the core of this tribute, I performed a powerful, original monologue eulogy, weaving together the harrowing history of the massacre with Mama Fletcher's incredible personal journey—from a seven-year-old witness to a revered figure testifying before Congress, and her symbolic return to Ghana to reclaim her royal names, Naa Lamiley and Naa Yaoteley.

This spoken-word piece served as the direct inspiration for our 2023 album, "Reparations," specifically the track "Why Should We Demand Reparations?" Through this presentation, Black Pearl fulfilled its mission to use music and spoken word as a vessel for truth, ensuring the story of Mama Fletcher and the legacy of Black Wall Street are never buried.

Of course. The lyrics you've shared are already deeply poetic. I have refined the structure, rhythm, and flow to enhance its power as a spoken-word piece, while faithfully preserving your original message and voice.

Here is the poem, "in this World Version."

In This World

In this world, where everything seems wrong,

Where strength has failed, and nothing rights the scale;

We are all tested in the battle long,

With hope and future set to fade and fail.

Our heroes faded, leaving no redeem,

We swallow pride and hold our tears inside;

A cruel reflection in a troubled stream,

Where emptiness and brokenness abide.

The sister struggles in the muddy flow,

The brother cannot count on kind support.

We fight for sight, with nowhere left to go,

And plead for solace of a gentler sort.

So I will trade it all, the world above,

And give all things for necessary love.

— Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Copyright@2025

She was a classic trend. A trailblazer. From her beginning to her end, she was a survivor.

She endured near-death situations that would make most souls despair. The massive infernos. The haunted cries. The tarnished screams that no child should ever have to hear… and no child should ever have to endure.

In 1921, in a place referred to as a village—a village that raised children to merge into a prosperous community called Black Wall Street, in the heart of Tulsa, Oklahoma—a seven-year-old girl named Viola Ford Fletcher saw the world burn. She saw the burning flashes, saw women and children running for their lives in a mass riot, a race war, fought over a lie. A tragedy for something her people did not do.

But she survived.

And she carried that story for a lifetime. She grew to become Mama Fletcher, and she stood up—she stood up in the halls of Congress—and she told her truth. She published a book with a plea: "Please, do not bury my story."

When Congress turned her down, and even the Supreme Court turned away, it did not silence her. She told her truth anyway. She stood alongside a group of survivors, many of whom had now given their souls to time and had gone to the promised land. We trust they now stand at those pearly gates.

But before that final journey, she was inducted, she returned to her motherland of Ghana, and she reclaimed her name. Naa Lamiley—"Somebody who is strong. Somebody who stands the test of time." And Naa Yaoteley—"the first female child in a family or bloodline."

These names… they speak for themselves.

And on this day, we remember her. We feel her spirit leap over us in a final victory lap. A lap of inspection, of waves, of music, of entertainment.

It is in this spirit that we, Black Pearl, dedicated our 2023 album, “Reparations,” to her and to the people of Tulsa. On that album, there is a piece—a poetry of spoken word over a solemn instrumental. It asks the question that defined her fight:

“Why should we demand reparations?”

This composition, played by Ross M and produced by the brilliant Jahmala Downer of Job Line Music, was our offering. The entire configuration of that album was built to honor her story, with our vocals and spoken words serving as a vessel for her truth.

And so, in dedication to Mrs. Viola Ford Fletcher, to the people of Tulsa, Oklahoma, and to all who endured that massacre… this is for you.

(Monologue ends. The instrumental of “Why Should We Demand Reparations?” swells gently and then begins to fade out.)

Of course. Here is a concise summary emphasizing your role as Black Pearl in this tribute.

Today, we are not just hosting a show; we are holding a space. A sacred space for memory, for truth, and for honor.

It is with a heart full of respect and a spirit weighed by history that we must begin by acknowledging the passing of a titan, a living monument to resilience, Mrs. Viola Ford Fletcher—better known to the world as Mama Fletcher.

On behalf of Black Pearl and our entire Spectrum Wave community, we extend our deepest, most heartfelt apologies and condolences to her family, her community, and to all who were touched by her unwavering light. We can only imagine the depth of your loss. We hope that in our small way, we can help carry her story forward. We sincerely pray that she is now resting in perfect and eternal peace.

As one of the last surviving witnesses of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre, she carried the weight of a story that the world tried to bury. But she refused to be silenced. She stood before Congress and declared, “Do not bury my story.” Her life was a testament to strength, a living demand for justice, and a bridge from a painful past to a future she fought to see.

It is in her spirit that we continue our own work. Our 2023 album, “Reparations,” was created as a sonic testament to her struggle and the ongoing fight for healing. And today, we want to offer something more personal.

What you are about to hear is a full, shadowed narrative—a monologue eulogy, crafted from the heart, dedicated to Mama Fletcher, to the lost souls of Black Wall Street, and to the enduring spirit of Tulsa, Oklahoma. This is our spoken word offering.

Today, we pay our respects to an American icon, Mrs. Viola Ford Fletcher, who passed away on November 24th, 2025, at the age of 111. As the oldest survivor of the Tulsa Race Massacre, her life was a powerful lesson in courage.

In this episode, we reflect on her legacy towards the backdrop of Black Pearl's own 2023 composition, 'In This World.' So please, don't go anywhere. You'll want to hear the rest of this moving candlelight vigil sermon for Mama Fletcher.

A special thank you to the artist behind it all, Black Pearl. Follow the journey at @officialblackpearlartist."

The truth has no instrument

Precious Jam Gemstone

Sound Music Bitez

Copyright@2025

Summer ’98 — a heavy rock,

A town that chose to turn the lock.

Blue blood classifies the lie,

Beneath a clean, alleged sky.

They pinned it on the native son,

His history was done

before his story began.

A ghost whisper, a door unsealed,

The truth that never was repealed.

No instrument, just voice and vow,

For then, for now, for never now.

A reporter’s clue, a life erased,

In crooked shoes, the town was placed.

And still the whisper breathes the name —

The innocent who bore the blame.

We read it all. We shout it out.

What power fears, what silence doubts.

—

And still the whisper breathes the name —

The innocent who bore the blame.

We read it all. We shout it out.

What power fears, what silence doubts.

—

Precious Jam Gemstone

Sound Music Bitez | Spectrum Waves & Music Entertainment

An AirPlay / Spoken Word Folklore

The inclusion of evocative color-coded descriptors like “Black berries, Ginger snap, Carmel, Butter scotch” feels like a poignant nod to racial identity and commodification, while phrases like “one less eye witness in this heist” underscore the silencing of truth-tellers.

Artistic Delivery & Vision:

Black Pearl operates with a podcast-first, multimedia approach, blending spoken word with sonic experimentation. The call for an “instrument to change (never stay the same)” reveals an artist committed to evolution and fusion, refusing to be sonically or thematically stagnant. The reference to YouTube samples suggests a layered, almost cinematic auditory experience—part protest, part testimony, part soundscape.

As an artist under Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment, Black Pearl positions themselves at the intersection of poetry, music, and social commentary. Their work is not just performed—it’s felt, demanding engagement not only with the ears but with the conscience.

Sean Bell was a 23-year-old Black man from Queens, New York, who was killed on November 25, 2006, the morning of what was to be his wedding day. Unarmed and leaving his bachelor party at a club, he was shot 50 times by NYPD officers, a tragedy that devastated his family, community, and sparked national outrage.

He left behind his fiancée, Nicole P. Bell, and two young daughters. In the years since, Nicole has tirelessly advocated for justice and shared their story through the dramatized film "Aftershock: The Nicole P. Bell Story," released in theaters on November 28, 2025, and on digital platforms from December 15, 2025. The film chronicles her journey of love, loss, and resilience in the face of unimaginable grief.

Sean Bell’s name remains a painful reminder of systemic violence and the ongoing fight for accountability and remembrance.

By

Black Pearl

Time grants no pause for woman, child, or man,

A driver on a road we cannot steer.

We do but all we can, and all we can

It lives until the final page is clear.

Our borrowed homes, our plans not ours to keep,

They are signed away by their ancestors' faint call.

While shadows gather, we are lulled to sleep,

As seasons change from blooming spring to fall.

So smile away the sorrows you have known,

For life is strange, a funny, brief exchange.

A mystery in which our seeds are sown,

Beyond the sky, where silent spirits range.

Then when your fading spirit starts to climb,

You must not fight this lifetime; just bow, in time.

Black Pearl

Spectrum Wave Publishing

Spectrum Wave Music Entertainment

Copyright@2025

Today, we light a candle in sound and spirit for Mrs. Viola Ford Fletcher, who transitioned on November 24th, 2025, at the remarkable age of 111. A vessel of living history, her 111 years were a testament to survival and truth.

Setting the tone for our remembrance is the haunting and beautiful 2023 piece, 'In This World,' penned and produced by Black Pearl. Tune in as we complete this candlelight vigil sermon, a sonic offering for the beloved Mama Fletcher.

Our gratitude to the visionary, Black Pearl. Connect with the art @officialblackpearlartist."