The dark white winter brings
Spring’s horrible creeping scenes
of corpses hanging lifeless
from redwood trees
in the early fifties.

Secrets once whispered
by family members
of the victims,
and celebrated
by the magistrates
that perpetuated hate
to seal the fates
of innocent
human beings.

How these
rag dolls hung
dripping soft drops
of crimson stillness.
Heads tilting
in terrifying positions,
with no physicians
coming in
to rescue them.

Such strange fruit
not yet ripened,
swollen
with the growing
gas that was bloating.
Until, bowls evacuated.

Soul singers spoke
of such tragedies
but who heard
their heart’s beating verbs
that broke against
a shore of stupidity,
and arrogance,

and who will listen
to the same insistence
as more people join
the resistance
to fight against
a new age of injustices.