What is the madness? Why does this socially forced folly exist? Why is it a precipitous duality reigns in my soul? The three-piece suit promotes the boardroom façade. If I suited my black leather you dismiss me from the room. My hair I permed, and even cut it off. If I appeared with my Afro, I’d be reduced to serving your coffee. Enunciate. Pronounce. I am well-versed and well read. But I’d be ignorant if I switched Catcher and Rye for Rosewood. Bach, Tchaikovsky, Candid, the bassoon. If I groove to Marvin Gay, I am uncultured and crude. Shakespeare, The Classics, A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream. If I know more of you and less me, I’m accepted, or so it seems. If I want success, my color I must change. A forced assimilation to this world; Integrated, yet Caucasian framed. I can’t be too black. I must be mostly white. I must live on the right side of town. If my color I must deny; my heritage I cannot claim. I now question your success, your adulation and your fame. The Chameleons cry from a self-realized soul… "I am a Black Man ‘til the day I die!" 61 Excerpts from "A Winter's Soulstice". Copyright 2001.