You were a star.
You danced in backward strides,
Drew images of horror with your feet,
Sang songs of denial,
Didn't care if girls were black or white, even if you thought
it mattered for you.
Or were you sick?
You lay there unmoving,
and people cried.
They mourned a saviour,
A King of Pop,
Someone they danced with, and sang with, and saw
on news, on magazines,
One day a black child,
A later day a black man,
with one white glove,
an artificial nose,
and a dream
to blur the lines of colour.
Do you miss him?
how you cry.
Listen to his songs,
Remember his legend,
That such a man
did live, and sing, and die.
"Michael Jackson is dead!" announced a co-worker.
"No, that's just the name of a drink." another replied.
"Oh." And minutes later, the first returned with more information. "No, he's really dead. It's on CNN."
And everyone hurried to Google the question of whether the King of Pop had indeed died. None of us could believe it when we discovered the truth. And Farrah Fawcett was dead too on the same day. It was tragical news.
I entered an elevator and a stranger asked me, "Did you hear the news about Michael Jackson?" The news of his death brought people together. Everyone knew who Michael Jackson was. He was famous. He was the originator of the moon walk, of famous black men painting themselves white, and of naming children Blanket. There were the child molestation allegations, the strange antics, and the failed plastic surgeries. He was everyone's favourite joke, and yet we loved his music. He was part of our shared history.
I'm sad that Michael Jackson has passed on. I wish his family and friends the best, and know that he will be remembered forever. His songs play on, and his reputation as a musical prodigy precedes him.
Rest in peace, Michael. Thank you for your gift of music to the world.