The Sun burns deep
In their wounds,
Then and now...

Miles past Emancipation
And Independence,
That contemptuous stench
Lingers on these mean streets
Where bare feet once brushed rocks
Burnt, crushed and red

And though our heels
Are covered
In leather and style

And we quote Hamlet
And Chaucer
And Wilde
Heads swollen with pride,
Brain-washed in dogma,
Tribal tongues tied
To the very stigma
That shackled our ancestors...

We become
what we once despised
When we hurl pejoratives
Like spears
With wanton refrain
Into the wounds of our
Brothers and sisters

Who share this space
And that history
We seem to have forgotten
On these mean streets
Where bare feet once brushed rocks
Burnt, crushed and red...

AYO

~ P