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I cannot cry for the children
of others—
the deaths of my own have drained dry
the wells of my eyes—
red orbs sunken deep in dark caverns
of growing grief
echoing wailing cries
of the ghost[s]…womb[s]...
wailing cries
falling on lifeless auricles
flaccid to vibrations of ebony pleads
of mothers whose babes
die daily deaths…
Though with thoughts heavier than time,
longer than rope—ordained and anointed
with the blood of ancestors, we cannot swallow
sacred memories nor eviscerate the common bond
between all the children of the god of the oppressed.
Yet let us not allow the present wicked deception
distract—derail our own Jubilee struggle for justice.
Let us not allow shifting tactics of deceit dilute focus
on the daily murdering of the oppressed of the darker hue.
Indeed, the melting pot boils; but upon whom
does it spill over?
