Potent poetry from a potent soul…
this may enhance your reading pleasure:
Our grandmothers screams can still be
heard through trees and swamps and back roads,
screams that signify a fire has started.
I can still feel white hands around Black
throats, still hear white breath in Black ears,
whispering devil thoughts in demonic tongues,
useless crying in half way nights fall on
Barbed wire rapist with razor blade fingers,
leaving genetic scars on Black wombs and Black seed,
stubborn intrusions polluting Black blood with insanity
and double cross, injuring Black minds with delay and self doubt.
Healing still not coming to our grandmothers while,
rancid, pus filled wounds are left to fester and
infect, as you stand tall as if superior to Black
people, on your infertile land, which left
infertile by your dead crops and manipulations.
You felt deviant ecstasy as you entered
Mother’s land, with swollen, pale, hate filled bayonet,
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