I am black and deserve justice

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I am Black, not bad, not wrong, not ugly, not useless, not untalented. I am worth the love and the justice. Some close their blinds and plug their ears,blasting music while our streets are raided, our cry for justice still rings out like the resonating call for prayer, our pained hearts plastered with a fixed smile. We suffer and laugh, we speak and get shot, we stay quiet and get underestimated.

Are they angry that we’re successful or that we stood the test of time and the bitterness of their fathers had turned us into a barrel of sweet juice that they now turn to drink from. Why not ask us politely for a share, why claim it was originally yours.

We get charged to court falsely and get condemned when we charge others to court, no justice served in the white land that know more than we do. We leave our homes to seek your refuge but still turned into worthless refugees. The black children are bullied endless, the black man driving carefully accused of beating traffic. Is justice served. We’re pigmented and black; so what?

They ride on high horses pretending not to see the overwhelming cloud of sorrow and untold injustice, a typical imagery of a sealed mouth, a caged bird whose wings have been clipped, but we thrive on, we’re beyond the archetype. Only a few sympathise with us and we take note. 

We have a voice but no time, a life but no name, a face but no eyes. We are made to see what they see, agree to what they want and then cry in the dungeon licking our wounds.

I am black, not unfortunate, in fact the fortune and luck i carry cannot be measured, they see it and feel threatened, goodness and perfection flows in the purity of black. We suffer in joy and yet our tunes are danced to. When would Justice be served.

We take on placards with our hands raised and our voices high laced with timidity and uncertainty of no return, risking it all ” no justice, no peace” we say but when would it be served. I thought mentality evolved, isn’t injustice a barbaric art plastered on the ugly walls of the world. A crazy mess of extreme emotions and fear.

I am black, not defiled or worthless,  we can’t be defined by color only by actions.

The white walls may need as much resilience to stand through what they’ve put us through

Again we raise our hands and placards, our voices fierce, soon they will be no trace of timidity only anger and pain.

 


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