The Long Gloomy Night.


Being birthed black must have been
nature’s lottery loss or a perdurable curse:
The grim night’s hue, the resplendent day’s shadow,
mourner’s shroud or an unknown of something worse;
where surveying stars neither illuminated
nor twinkled, but glared and seared flesh of sweat
spewing swarthy toilers of the cruel fated
and the leather lashing rain smeared a wet
legacy of red tinged imprints across naked backs;
which streamed into the undrying tributary
of eye sourced brines constantly rushing
into the flooded sea shores of pain’s territory.

The waxing moon: a morose crescent
of sad emotions beamed in descent;
the half moon reflected
a race’s status inhumanely inflected.

But the ocular monocle of full moon
through which a sliver of gleaming hope
was glimpsed, that one day soon
this oppressive night shall surely elope.


Beneath the earth or above sky
Where will my life beyond tiled bed lie?

Fire fire burning bright,
Within confines of heathen’s sight;
What concrete ice or quenching sea,
Could snuff out thy fickle tongued fury?

Tongues which eternally licks flesh uncharred
With its corresponding sensation unbarred;
Chthonic flames which forever blossoms
Where the above thorns, that choke, find their homes.

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Come let’s sit by the riverside
On twin stone seats placed
By nature for our behinds

The troublesome winds roughly
ruffles the trees the trees whisper
in pain to the birds the birds reply
with song to soothe their ears
On the wind’s back the birds
later will ride but the trees
in their clutches still will
be a haven for its nest
Toss across the river’s wrinkled
face a polished pebble and watch
the gyres growing on each spot it
bounces even long after it sinks
How long will our ripples last
when our pebbles lie under?
Will it be strong enough to
change the course of this
ever flowing river?

The East throws up the rising sun
And the West swallows it whole
And thus another day is gone