The Voice of Humanity

_{A Poem on Racism I presented sometime back.}

This is not a poem

nor a systematic arraignment of simile

neither a display of metaphoric beauty

this is the dark ode of a bleeding pen

dripping of a nation wounded    

manifestation of this drowning dark desire 

---

I come— not as a voice drunk in confidence

but a hidden feint familiar voice;

I come bare, raw as red Chunk of flesh

I carry the wounds of generation past

a memory inscribed on the tombs

of generations yet to come

                             

---

I come to you a dying weak voice of humanity

seeking a grasp of redemption

as I erode in bit

In this dark age where I am stabbed a thousand time to death

 held by different chains of affliction

strangling out of me everyday oiter of oneness, love,

 nationhood and human Hood

---

This is not a poem

this is a mask of anxiety

this is the fresh wounds of a bleeding motherhood

who must lay beneath the ground

the seed of her womb by her hands

Who her own cannot protect

a quivering of a weak heart consumed

Of a nation hinged on colors,

 brutality and darkness

---

This is not a poem

this is adventure in futility to matter

as I cast my gaze to memories past

a lane of a dark skin melanin

with thick dark hair as sponge

who has not known beauty

because her skin clouds the eyes of men

so her heart has learnt only darkness

 my friend!!!— there is no beauty in

darkness

---

The only path that seem right is white

so to matter I burnt in bit every pigment

of melanin until my skin shined white as snow

like the sun it stood blinding the eyes of men

but yet again I felt the grip so hard

of obscurity

a mockery to me for I never mattered

then it stood bare to me

that being black was a condition of their heart

not the matter of my skin

no matter how much I try I was still that black girl

there is no beauty in darkness my friend!!!!

---

In this day of history I am but a master piece of strive

no matter how broad my knowledge of science

Or how beautiful my performance of art

there is no excellence in being black

no matter how high I climb, I am pulled down by this force

and my only Identify was black,

in black is my darkness—-

my friend—there is no excellence in darkness

While you walk with your head so sigh

I bend so low not have a colition with the law

don’t quote me wrong this is not a poem 

on racism but a display of a single story

this is not a studio to paint white black

this is an epistle calling for a balance

for the part of humanity

whose only cause is to matter…

 

---

This is not a poem

this is a defeated voice of humanity

a cry in anguish for redemption

this is a letter to that beautiful conscience

that love is meant to be seen and felt

this is humanity calling us back to himself

like a prodigal father his son

this is a reminder of our root

before we are black, white, woman youth…

we where first humans

this is not my voice neither my words

this is me lending my voice to humanity.

😊 Please leave a line or thought at the comment box below.

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