I don't know why the garden behind a lulled neighbourhood
Reminds me of the forgiving past
When, I jotted my thoughts from the start
As a pale boy
Understanding the road of violence taken
Many ideals ceased to exist until poetry came
Maybe, because of white privilege
But, the Bible is all we had for freedom
Now that black lives matter, thorns stub your head
As the nail impairs the prolonged hammer
We write for a culled audience
Dealing with prejudice, with our hands tied
Things are not black and white anymore than before
It is my duty to see the color
Life is more than warm and white color
Like blooming flowers grasping their innocence
Life is a beautiful wonderment
It isn't born of acceptance
A dirge-like procession always carries on
Yet, indelible writings are on the wall
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 2:10 AM UTC
I don't know why the garden behind a lulled neighbourhood
Reminds me of the forgiving past
When, I jotted my thoughts from the start
As a pale boy
Understanding the road of violence taken
Many ideals ceased to exist until poetry came
Maybe, because of white privilege
But, the Bible is all we had for freedom
Now that black lives matter, thorns stub your head
As the nail impairs the prolonged hammer
We write for a culled audience
Dealing with prejudice, with our hands tied
Things are not black and white anymore than before
It is my duty to see the color
Life is more than warm and white color
Like blooming flowers grasping their innocence
Life is a beautiful wonderment
It isn't born of acceptance
A dirge-like procession always carries on
Yet, indelible writings are on the wall
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