Mundane things you do with extravagant ease,

Urbanized flair from ancient asylees,

Grooving and growing in an often hostile land,

I live to see you moving,

Like hot winds on Sahara sand.

Brown, mocha, cinnamon, dewy yellows,

Out of the horn of Africa, rise these brilliant fellows,

Laced with a bit of Europe, Native and Asian too

These are the African-American men, America only wish it really new.

These solid towers that blossom achene

                                                                                                                                  In America’s imagination,

Are killing machines.

These men who have carried slavery, Jim Crow and ignorance on its back

Remind America just how much equality it truly lacks. 

These men, fathers, brothers, nephews, cousins know another side,

What it is like to take a walk, and not return alive.

                                          While the whole world chatters and bickers away,

                                                                                                                               our men know  

 it’s just another day.

A day where the world has yet to realize,

the fatality of ignorance

and the abundance of its lies,

                                               lies that shape the “developed world” and disguise its lack,

in the myth that all is wrong

                                                 is colored in black. 


3 thoughts on “Myths

  1. Simply amazing. This poem needs to be performed on stage in front of a crowd of brilliant fellows and ladies of all hues.

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