2pac poem

The power of a smile

The power of a gun can kill
and the power of fire can burn
The power of wind can chill
and the power of mind can learn
The power of anger can rage
inside until it tears you apart
But the power of a smile
especially yours can heal a frozen heart

- Tupac Shakur, The Rose That Grew From Concrete

You said you love me
that you’d be here forever
but what about today?
As the wind breezes
the seasons change
the time shifts
will you still feel the same way?
Seems like once upon a time
we were closer than close
the aura of communication was effortless
now everything is stagnant
and it has me thinking if I still hold importance
Pardon my reoccurring doubts and questions
that’s laced in my fragile heart
I was just wondering if you’d still be here
before today would start
—  FOREVER and Today

Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature’s law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.

-Tupac Shakur

Who shot ya!?
Hey, Pac, I’m still on the case
because ever since they murdered you
none of us have been safe.
Was it the police?
Was it your homeboys?
Was is the KKK?
On the Vegas Strip after a fight
I’m surprised nobody got it on tape.

I remember being nine on the cusp of defiance,
rejecting all the heroes I was assigned in my sociology class.
I told my teacher they were all murderers or murdered
or make-believe,
then I played her “Only God Can Judge Me”
before she ran to the stereo and threw my cd in the trash.

And that’s when I knew you were the hero I’d look up to,
somebody not in the history books
someone real I could grasp.
And then I saw the news
you had been shot
you had been killed.
Then I came back to school
and my teacher just laughed.

She said I should pick better heroes,
somebody not as aggressive,
someone on a much better path.

Then I had to remind her
of Malcolm
of Martin
of Huey
of Fred
of Medgar
etcetera, etcetera, etcetera,
and told her it didn’t matter,
black heroes don’t seem to last.

Who shot ya!
Hey, Pac, what are we gonna do?
How are they gonna find who kills us
if they can’t find who killed you?

I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto, verse three
you sounded something like a prophet.
You predicted 20 years ago that police
would be out here killing us
and we couldn’t do anything to stop it. You said,
“cops give a damn about a negro,
pull the trigger, kill a nigga he’s a hero”
and now, “the streets are death row.”
The cops are judge, jury and executioner
and apparently every bit of it’s legal.

And I don’t know if Heaven’s got a ghetto,
but I know its got a long line
and there’s some people waiting to get in
that could use your comforting
because we know Tupac cared
when nobody else did.
I’m sure we keep you busy up there,
we’ll make sure you died for something.

Who shot ya?
Hey, Pac, your killer is still on the loose.
I don’t know if you heard,
but they got BIG too.
They’re killing everybody that we looked up to.

And I know there’s people who will hear this
that won’t understand
“He was a thug”
“He got what he deserved”
“His music should have been banned”
And those are the same people who fear us
when we band together in death.
They mock us
they incite us
when we riot or protest.

Who shot ya!?
Hey, Pac, maybe it’s best we never know.
Jokes on them
because they will never be immortalized
and you will forever be the hero.

I’ve envisioned meeting one with immense beauty
being immortalized in the silhouette of intimacy
Having an authentic soulful connection running its course
like a magnetic pull keeping us bound


I have found him and he is what I’ve never imagined
He seems to be a masterpiece – raw but delicate, as if handcrafted
and he has shown no signs of straying nor leaving me abandoned
It caused me to think, “what can I offer him?”
Could I become the moon and break through his windowpane
illuminating his every provoking thought with regal grace
Love him how a painter makes art – with emotion and meaningful intention
He looks at me and gives me his dimpled smile
and I return the same radiant expression
He is the embodiment of boyish charm – exuding grandeur
but what can I offer him?

—  WHAT CAN I OFFER HIM?
If there be pain...

If there be pain,
all you need to do
is call on me to be with you
And before you hang up the phone
you will no longer be alone
Together we can never fall
because our love will conquer all

If there be pain,
reach out for a helping hand
and I shall hold you wherever I am
Every breath I breathe will be into you
for without you here my joy is through
my life was lived through falling rain
so call on me if there be pain

- Tupac Shakur, The Rose That Grew From Concrete