REQUIEM FOR HANDS FREE AT LAST

A REQUIEM FOR HANDS FREE AT LAST

“Oh death where is thy sting;

Oh grave where is thy victory?”

 

Death’s stinging victory

is alive and well

in this land of Black America—

My country’s tears

from you and me swelling

rivers of flowing grief—self evidence

that the only democracy Blacks will see

is in the equanimity of death—Death,

the common denominator

ensuring freedom at last in the streets

of home.

 

Where we were once invisible,

today it’s only our hands—Hands

no longer to rock cradles stilled

in juxtaposition to the graves

of those who are indeed free at last;

hands that no longer to embrace

in giving hugs of love—Hands no longer

to clasp in prayers of thanksgiving. 

 

Now we must ever ponder

and take care in what we wish

in question as we sojourn the streets

of life in the home of the brave

and the land of the free.

 

“Give me liberty or give me death…”

has gained a pre-ordained response:

affirmative in the or—Assuring

you will be free at last! For death

makes no distinctions—Hands-wise.