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Kriti Gupta Jan 28
My keyboard remembers your name better than I remember the pain
I lie awake at night fearing no one will ever know my veins
There’s still a part of me that’s disappointed you never changed
And I keep telling myself, in another life..?
Maybe that time, I’ll come out with the right skin type
But this was it, there is no another universe
No matter how much I try to kid myself
This is all we had, all I could give you
And it wasn’t enough
I didn’t want to beg, but I did
I know you felt it, I came to my knees,
Longing, aching
Please, please, love my ***** skin.
i only think about you in the hours where I never had you
The good ole days were enjoyed with ease,
There was more to enjoy because of disease;
There were fewer people to dress and feed
Thanks to child mortality.


The middle-class were few and greedy,
Thanks to rampant poverty;
We could find work and be employed,
But tenure turned to workplace injury;
Illiteracy was common,
Innumeracy, our fate,
Due to the high-school drop out rate;
Polio and smallpox kept in check
The burgeoning growth of the unelect;
Minorities knew their social place,
Jim Crow was voting in black face;
Heteros ruled the ****** race,
Alphabet people were an outlier trace;
In summer and winter we were outplayed and beat,
With no Air Conditioning nor Central Heat.

Let's leave the past in the past,
There where history belongs;
Where hunger and sickness,
Lasted life-long,
With the poverty and ignorance
The minority prolonged.

We can agree times were simpler then,
But time came rushing to our quick end.
Alphabet people are LGBTQA+
Zywa Nov 2023
God must be sky blue,

then there will be no problems --


will be white nor black.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 1-7 "Methwold"

Collection "Low gear [2]"
Robert Ippaso Nov 2023
Why this never ending hate
Where impressionable young men swallow jaundiced bait,
To **** and maim - all in the name of their one prophet,
Unleashing burning mayhem with rocket after rocket.

Has discourse and humanity disintegrated to this point,
Where the only leaders they invariably anoint
Preach such hatred and revenge,
With glaring eyes and fingers tightly clenched.

Generations go to die leaving mother's sadly wailing,
The guns they hold no longer just for playing,
A dream of glory as yet another blessed martyr,
The sad byproduct of this never-ending intifada.

Were only calmer minds at play,
Leaders who knew the words they had to say,
To avert such bloodshed that's never a solution,
The only outcome despair and persecution.

Violence is a twin, a spawn of the same seed,
Destruction not discourse it's destiny to lead,
Strength is shown by character, tenacity and grit,
Mandela proved the adage to never ever quit.

Jews and Palestinians cousins by another name
So very different and yet so very much the same,
Two thousands years of sharing this small land,
A differing religion but surely the same band.

Enough this constant slaughter tearing families apart,
Let wiser minds prevail in making a new start,
Nothing is impossible when truth and will combine,
A path to coexistence is what each must define.

Will it be easy no, but clearly it's a must,
It starts with creating empathy and a modicum of trust,
The alternative unthinkable, impossible to bear,
As misery and death the only certainty they'll share.
To make us reflect
Zywa Oct 2023
You did, you said: I.

How dare you! What do you think!


That you are something?
"Citizen: An American Lyric" - VII (2014, Claudia Rankine)

Collection "May the Might"
Zywa Oct 2023
You did, you said: you.

As if I just have to be --


obliging to you.
"Citizen: An American Lyric" - VII (2014, Claudia Rankine)

Collection "May the Might"
MetaVerse Aug 2023
If you tell me
I'm evil
Because I'm white,
I'll tell you
You're racist,
And I'll be right.

If you tell me
I'm evil
Because I'm
A member fallen
Of Adam's race,
I'll agree with you.
But hear me:
I was worse by far
Before I received
God's grace.
Ron Sparks Aug 2023
Ignore
racist bigots;
stand proud against their hate.
Trust me when I tell you that you
matter
Odd Odyssey Poet May 2023
At the start of this, it already sounds racist
From statements about dating a white girl
Being considered white whale chasing

From jokes being made of being loud as a coloured,
And acting raw as a black; we'd pass the jokes carelessly
Without any care of offence, as we'd carelessly laugh

From jokely calling everyone the N word
In a country where it translates to give
Wouldn't the outer world love to give their own opinion,
And cancel us with no F's to give

From the stories from parents about the white man being rough,
But bringing so many things to us
To now taking their farms, and stating "this right is ours"
How is this the future, when history has repeated itself,
But in reversed roles; not much to say we've come so far

From the eyes of a child to see a poor white man as something strange; and a poor black man as a much closer relative,
Relatively speaking it's still the poverty of our eyes, seeing such things so poorly. And how's a poor man to look for loose change,
In a world that hasn't really changed?

But if I went sightseeing around the world,
blinded from stereotypes and world opinions
Perhaps to see everyone as a fellow sister and brother
Of the same father,—father time. The same mother,—earth
Could that instead give them a second to think in their hearts,
Not to be a racist first

                 ...or will this only be, a poem about racism?
Odd Odyssey Poet Sep 2022
Oh sorrowful song,
As the chords they go—lifting minors
And falling majors, flat to the eyes, D minor
Of the saddest song:

                    He sings with a choke of voice
                    Smoke from the lungs, a smokers abyss
                    His pipes are cold,
                    Blackened in the airways of the exhaust
                    Exhausted by the pleasures; only pleasurable at first.

Oh where are the words
The words to speak ill of another colour
Must of been caught up in the smoke—in the years
The years he said them marginalizing without remorse
In it's race, sped into discriminating; on his own tracks
Of how the world must only revolve around him
His wife had shed a tear in her prayers, "Lord do a working in him"

                   But his heart was made cold and hard
                   A stone—paved by cement of his opinions concrete
                   His racist abuse was made public, non discreet
                   So how would he fit a colour of world being discrete?

Oh the upbringing, hierarchy forced in eyes
To follow a father's pride—a fitting bride
He was unaware she wasn't hundred percent white
And in the end, both father and son died alike
Ironically chocked by the black smoke rewarding cancer inside

                    The sad life of the black smoke racist🚬


                        The son hopes not to follow his father's line of smoke.
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