My black has roamed the earth since the beginning of time. And even before the biblical earth was created.
Before civilization became mainstream and hungry European limbs raced for a stake in Africa.
My black existed even before the term "*****" was coined in the 1800s to name me into a corner with property, beasts, and things that crawl the earth.
Before the exploration of Sub-Saharan Africa in the 15th century, during the Age of Discovery, my black thrived and survived.
Even then, we were more than just bodies existing. It meant something. We meant something to our families and friends and communities. We were nations of tribes and cities on rich and fertile soil, with traditions and cultures where women ran and led families and armies. Where babies became land-owners at birth. And trees sang their names to the skies in celebration.
You see, my black is progressive.
My black was never stronger than it is now.
I won’t break, no matter how hard they try to subjugate me.
They will not succeed, they shall not.
My black shall conquer any injustices committed against me.
My black is God-given and me, thus my black is unapologetic.
My black is strong.
My black is multi-dimensional, complicated, and many different things beyond the color of my skin or the nature of my ***** hair.
my black and I are more than just my ethnicity or race.
My black is stronger than every standard of beauty I am forced to live up to.
My black is human and compassionate.
My black gives me the power I need, to step into my own peculiar trajectory and destiny.
I do not blame them, for not being able to understand my black, because it took me a long time, to fully comprehend, accept, and step into the power of my blackness.
Now that I do, I am unashamed and proud of who and what I am in my blackness.
They may try to enslave and keep me in darkness and ******* but like a phoenix from the ashes, my black shall rise and prevail.
My voice will be heard.
They may shoot me, spite me and even dismiss me all they want but still, they will never **** my black.
Even in despair, my blackness comforts me.
My black is too strong to be broken.
And I am Valid.

Thin, white bones watch me from under the skin.
They stretch and crumple it in movement, that transparent membrane, the net of veins and nerves sensitive to every touch of the breeze in an unusually cold night of late June.
Bare shoulders rip the wind of dense darkness as if they were sharp white arrows, cowed, waiting, determined, for the first rays of sun that are still far on the brim of the night, far away, further than the stars.
Some sounds break the stillness; some lonely cries of iron beasts somewhere in the darkness, some echos of lonesome laughters evaporate in the small, lost streets.
We are the night shift, we are the guardians of the night air and the slumbering breaths of closed eyelids, we guard the dreams so no one can steal them, our white arrows and determined eyes fight the boogeyman that hides in the dark, for a few more hours of serenity, until the morning sun chases away all the monsters back into the very depths of the darkest shadows.
And the next night, the battle continues...

Skin like alluvial soil:

I remember her vividly,
She was different than the rest.
Her skin like the alluvial soil
glistened in the sun.
Compassionate, kind
Fiery and wild,
She would look at me as if to stare into my soul. She knew I had more inside.

I remember her fondly.
Her skin the color of the earth.
She knew me more than I ever could,
A beauty, unexplained, almost tangible.

And now, she is gone and I am no longer the same.
She left me abruptly.
Pining for her every breath.

Inside every colour of skin
There flows a river of red.
Inside every river of thoughts
There binds a piece of mind.
Inside every piece of mind
There blows a stroke of soul.
Inside every stroke of soul
There falls the hands of God.

To focus on what self importance brings
That final blink will flick to nothing
At best a whim
Too late as time has slipped
It's skin has shed
Where youth has fled
The cycle of light and dark
A heavy step leaves a beaten path
What has been learnt and can be shared
Fairer heart
Friendship bare
Cleaner air
To offer greater care

Dear George Floyd.

I write this to you today in hopes that your soul is in peace.

I write this in hopes that your martyrdom won't be another headline or simply another name in the papers. I write this in hopes that perhaps another man of Color won't lose his life to racism.

I write to you today to let you know that we will fight. We will fight so no man has to lose his life because of the color of his skin. We will fight so no race is called "thugs" again. We will fight for another 7 years for those 7 minutes of pain you felt.

Our fight is not over. Our fight has just begun. No man's life will be as cheap as a packet of cigarettes again.

25 May 2020, and George Floyd will be remembered.

Unequally democratic,
Laws made equally,
punishments biased.

Kills for the Black man,
Patience for the white.

"I can't breathe"
He cried.
Phones recorded,
Yet
He died.

A black man's life,
At a packet of cigarettes price.

A white man kills,
Yet still alive.

Justice we seek.
What they had promised to provide.
Yet we take on these streets.
Again, to fight.

We take on these streets with your name in bold.
History books will proclaim you as gold.

In hopes that your name will be the last.

We will fight 7 years for your 7 minutes.
We will breathe.
We will breathe.