This poem was written by me after the senseless killing of both Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. And now, given the public execution of George Floyd, I decided to share my poem here.
See that your eyes aren’t marked to be seen, but they are dark umber-brown wisdom left behind from ancestors who are still whispering.
Don’t be too amused by their caramel lies that tickle the ears. Yet faces are turning claret and eyes are swirling madly knowing very well what foul fallacy the tongue is holding.
Remember that block you grew up in Brooklyn? Walking that one-way eternal street with that old smell of grandfather’s menthol grease and sweet purple haze weed?
Or the corner where Kenny’s blood still cries and how grandma said they left when we started to arrive?
However, you kept exchanging handshakes with hard eyes and ashes in your mouth.
But sit up! This world won’t do it for you with gentle ease,
Especially, not for midnight skin,
Black afro coarse hair,
Or 12inch weave.