I'm sure there are many poems on this
Echoing a plea or desperate wish
That the world was different, just not this way
That one could be certain of life the next day
Free in the streets, to walk without fear
Not wondering if the police is near
Who can only sight the shade of one's skin
By which they'd know if one committed sins
Pardoning those of a fair demeanour
Believing the white means their souls are cleaner.
Finding a reason to redden one's hands
They'd paint it if they could, concocting plans.
Perhaps some minds cannot think beyond
The hat of privilege their clan has donned.
Perhaps some ears cannot listen to more
To voices screaming amidst death and gore.
Perhaps some eyes cannot pretend to see
Around the firm blocks of a bleak history.