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He is black


I know it is my voice, my noise, my cries

and i don't speak for a thousand me, just the one i know;

For in a thousand i loose the voice i haven't found,

The fire i haven't ignited

I know how i sound and it not a sign of weakness

Yes, tears

But not threatening;

I have an identity,

One which I have be bearing;

By how far,

I say a million

Thundering steps, stumps, thuds,

Hit the ground, destroy you worshipping maggots.

The roots are lifted, tasted before rendered "you-less"

and you have not a family, not the tree, just as they don't agree.

It feels strange now,

To have you feel slaved and young all again

Scream your momma, she can't hear

I screamed mine while you buried my head,

Comfort your battle,

You haven't lost, i clipped your wings as you clipped mine.

In a twinkle, a blink, a mere passage of time, crippled by you;

Folded and stashed like a cloth that you see fit;

Hostile to the truth and you steal him,

His life, his right, his surviving fight,

That he is black doesn't put a bullet his in heart just as fast.

© 2020 Favour Ali

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