i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that if the phrase “adding insult to injury” had a feeling,
that would be it.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it sounds like “hands up, don’t shoot,” like “i can’t breathe,”
like blood hitting a pavement that seems as though it was built
to catch those droplets.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it tastes like skittles and arizona tea,
four years old but still carrying the fresh sting of a wound just opened.
i imagine that it tastes 
like history repeating itself,
like seeing your son or daughter recycled each week
on every news report, on every tv station.
each time it is a different body, 
but it is always the same hand pulling the trigger,
the same black blood being spilled,
the same cries left unheard;
we shout “black lives matter”
and yet, still,
they cut them too short.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it looks like a web of lies too thick to cut through — 
every strand another weapon that he did or did not have,
another order that he did or did not follow,
another sin that he did or did not commit;
the only black they care about
is the color of the ink they use
to draw your angel-headed boy
a set of horns.
i imagine that it looks like evidence hidden,
like sparknotes-type skim-throughs labeled “thorough investigations,”
like another unindicted officer walking freely atop the cries of those 
who charged into a battle they knew they would, but hoped they would not, lose.
a battle they have fought too many times before.
i imagine that it looks
like an empty chair at the dinner table,
like cold-blooded ****** disguised as justice
with the help of a blue hat and a badge.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but if you listen closely enough,
you can hear it
in every cautious goodbye she says to her children whenever they leave the house,
or in the silence that those goodbyes used to fill.

can you hear it?
you will have to push past the shouts
of the big bold letters that they want you to believe.

somewhere,
somewhere in there,
a black mother’s heart is crying.
it is a gentle, hushed cry 
that the world does not want to hear.

but the tears are still just as wet.

(a.m.)

It’s that split second decision that will haunt you for the rest of your days.
Was it justified? Was it based on some racist ways?
Will we ever truly know?
What goes into that split second decision?
Does the color of the person’s skin determine if they will ever get up again?
What goes into that split second decision?
When you are staring down the barrel of that gun, who do you see?
What do you say to yourself?
Does it matter if it’s a woman or a man?
Does it matter that some child will never see their parent again?
Does it matter that they have their whole life in front of them?
Would it matter if it were you and not them?
What goes into that split second decision?
How do you know when it is right to pull the trigger?
Does it matter if it was a policeman or a black male living that **** life?
What goes into that split second decision whenever you decide to take a life?  
How do you truly decide who goes home and who dies tonight?
Let’s reflect on the police brutality, the black on black crime, the deaths from domestic violence, and realize that the split second decision doesn’t really care who makes it…
It’s the life at the end of the gun that matters when the split second decision takes it!

I've always found it bizzare
How people describe brutality
As animalistic

Did animals create
The nuclear missile
Showers of zyklon B
The middle passage
The inquisition
The gladiator games?

No, these horrors
Are purely man-made

This brutality
Is not animalistic
It is human.

For far too long we have been victims of police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 21st of October.
These are the very same men and women who we trust to protect us.
But they failed us dismally, barricaded us from expressing our concerns.
You could see the visuals all on TV, it was all too hard to believe.
The revolution will not be fully televised, it will be tweeted.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
For far too long we’ve been victims of police brutality.
Your teargas, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so what’s the hold-up for?
History is repeating itself in South Africa, what a time to be alive.
They’ve become worse than their oppressors but they won’t oppress us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
We will keep protesting in Jo’burg, Pretoria and Cape Town until we’re heard.
There’s no amount of police brutality that can dampen our spirits and no gun you make can **** our souls.

Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so why is there a hold-up?
Hold up, we’re tired of being victims of hate, fate and police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 23rd of October.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
Your riot police, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
When burning buildings come down, I just hope you’ll be ready for us all.
When burning buildings come down, we will effortlessly heed the call.

From formative years
To adulthood serfs-baited
Servants ill-treated
From their means
Of existence alienated,
It is with hatred
From- serfdom- of- every-kind
-the- newly -unshackled heads'
Formatted!

Though their much-lamented land
Has come back to their hand
Tardy,their mind proves not free,
That is why they engage
In a killing spree!
Worse still death to all, allies
Inclusive,they decree!

Although it sounds funny
They pay back gal
For received honey!

Also to cultural norms
And religious ideals blind,
Atavistic they slay
A woman and a child
In a way that is wild.

Oblivious for 9-months
They had a lodging
In a mother's womb
They want to blast it
With a bomb!
They want to shove in it
A spherical thorny wood
As far as they could.

Alive,they grill a man,
For idle or unskilled what
They can't do, he can!

In the name of God
Or religious sects,
Replete at this
Satan-released age,
They behead a man
Made in God's image!///

the patrol car has left the block once more,
a bull shark circling
nearer to some shore, headlights
blared, a black silhouette steering the vehicle;

night kisses the horizon, pecks it sharp
like a bullet case
scraping the darkling pavement,
only the whitest stars visible above.

many like me stroll sidewalks at this hour,
smoking a stogie
or sitting on empty swings
in playgrounds vacant of laughter; it is better

that children sleep while they can and can dream
before the true night,
that blight of bruise blue, sirens
wailing on their way to steal away some dark man

from the streets. where I stand on an apartment stoop
I count the vehicle
for the fourth time, lurking
out around the corner, like a wolf dressed metallic.

nothing gets better come nightfall. nothing
gets done while asleep.
i slip on my shadow, hood
dark, concealing my face. lean back into the steps

and light another cigarette. inhale.
exhale. most don’t have
to worry: their paleness turns
them ghostly, invisible, to the patrolling cars.

but I wear my darkness. i wish I knew
how to make sparks fly,
have them issue from throat, crack
into splinters of glass. the law tells me to sit

but I refuse. i am a phosphorus
fuse; i am whitened;
but i am impoverished,
and I too have my own reasons to be frightened.

His eyes were a blazing yellow
choking and coughing up blood
his flesh developed sores
and the screams echoed throughout the night

We put him out of his misery
a bullet to the brain
and a star shaped hole in his head

We ripped and teared into our flesh
we couldn't breath, the mucus became thick
and the colors were yellow and red
signs of pus and blood

The masks were suffocating us
and we couldn't see...

a yellow fog hung over our heads
no smell, no taste, just air....

All we share in common is nothing
but at the moment nothing is enough
all we share are the insults you've thrown at me
which I feel are better than having bombs drop at me
all we can agree on are thousand disagreements
something much better than the war entanglements
the innocence of my blood that was almost shed
for my cradle wanted but to see me dead
all we hold in our hands is the street from where I beg
but isn't that prettier than a torn head or broken leg?
all we breathe in from the gutters is your oxygen
it's enough even if I am not forgiven
all we share is that crumb you dump in the pit
and your jeers, unsympathetic for my tears besides spit
all we share is the world you've grown up from
because chocking melancholy has
taken over my precious land
all our palms touch are the petals of red roses which
I pick up after your beautiful dinner
after it's trampled over by the carefully shaven heel of your lover
for it's after being trampled that its scent is sweeter
and which fragrance does spring in me hope
all we share in common is spring grass that's greener
for so it was in that field I last watched my best friend play
it was where his blood oozed as I did pray
  grass that burnt black as I called on
my little brother's heart not to stop
all we share in perfect common is prayer
you praying for my kind to leave
I for those left behind whilst they hopelessly grieve
wondering if I made it to the other side of the ocean
doubting whether Allah, Jesus
or whoever's creator's really watching
and if He's watching whether he's enjoying the tragic play
of reality,
all we share in common is the big beautiful sky
for while you look to it and wear that pretty smile
I smile too,only I recall the darkness left behind
the neighbour who took my bullet
the soldiers who arrived when it's too late
the lover who stepped on my land mine
one who promised they'd forever be mine
(how forever could be so short!)
the malnourished children and desperate parents
what's a happy blue sky to you only reminds me of their pine
so while you smile, I smile and at the same time I cry
I understand, all we share in common is nothing
but I'm glad I've learnt that sometimes in life
nothing could mean everything