Carefree in leisure time, one blasé tourist,
almost happy, I once had collected a complicated stone;
after the sunny hours had ended and last opportunity
for keepsakes began.

In my hand the stone had kept all of its mouths sewn shut,
holding its amalgamated story, and likewise in the car,
on the plane, through US Customs where it was not
in the least suspected.

A thumbnail identity I now should guess at, marking an old date,
and fixing it to, with reasonable estimate, a map location:
Plot No. 243, East end of the island, slave sugar plantation,
the stone from the corner of a ruined sugarmill stair—
broken free by my criminal hand.

The stone like a bleached out mini-monolith,
square rectangular, could be stood on end;
was swollen at its center like a pulled cork.

What could have moved this sequestered world to opening?
That was not for me to exactly discover,
except what came on Christmas Day,
two days after my returning.

Slave watercourses, the sight of innumerable Dutch ships,
ballasted with human flesh and hewn rock
for sugar works buildings.

The drop at-arms-swish of the Driver’s bullwhip.
Flecks of spirit splayed on vegetation.

A mongrel dog barked beyond the windless wall of sugarcane
in centipede and mosquito heat.

Seaside, beautiful seaside impressions;
distant coral light shadows, etched deep azure;
snowy colored breakers that pencil-marked the sea.
The staid, vibrant, mocking power
of visual symphony backdrop.

So little of aid for the slaves, but for those dangerous secrets,
un-housed in the fallen coolness of the night:
demonstratively crystalline heaven of stars;
a ragged moon, clouds scudding eastward toward Africa.
And there -- Orion’s Belt, mid-sky, illustrious bright,
with its three centering star points in rational line,
as if Hope could have flung its anchor onto Life
engendering sanctified resistance.

Christmas morning, 5 a.m.
I had awakened from a stuck place, shapeless and dark,
half in dreaming and half knowing I was in no dream.

I was sobbing, yet strangely, because there were no tears.
I had only put the stone inside my pajama top onto my heart.

The boy in the stripped pyjamas
The experiment of a Jew and Muslim
Schindler's list, the pianist
The blood on God's land
Of innocence, of Mother, daughter, son and Father

We have learned nothing
We play it on the cinema screen
We read it in the books
Yet? We have learned nothing

I am tired, tired of the pain..
Of the bloodshed, of the abuses
Of the wars, murders, rapes and doom

You look to history
What do you find?
Holocaust, slavery, war, witch hunts, inquisition
The hangman's noose
The stake, the torture chamber
The gas chamber  

They say "Its different now, we're civilised"
But you know in your heart of hearts
It is not...

70 years ago they thought they were civilised
200 years ago they thought they were civilised
600 years ago they thought they were civilised

This land is scorched
This land is tainted
Of a million souls
Christian, black, Jew, Muslim, human
And what have we learned?

**** all

The **** salute, The KKK
The Israeli fear, the trauma
The stolen Land, Standing rock!
Gaze strip, stripped of rights
Syria weeps! Towers struck
Virginity ripped, solider beheaded
Daughter's sold, Son's beaten
Trump has power
Nukes galore!
The Madonna burying her son!

We seek the scapegoat
Once twas women, twas Jew
Now its the women in a veil
My friend!

I will never force the hatred of the past into this present
I will walk side by side with her
Take her to the temple mount! The wailing wall!
Hold her hand and cry for Abraham and Muhammad to hear

We are all children of God!
Blood will not make the soil fertile
God forgive them

I see today in the chosen people's nation
The replay of history
A family torn from their beds
Homeless in death
At the mercy of a government that hates them
And soldiers that will **** them...

These people of God
Stricken by prejudiced, tormented by centuries
Will become the monsters, they so fear

I have no birthright to that land
No land baptised in blood is any land of mine!
Nor is it the land of my ancestors

6 million Jews did not die
So we may become the oppressors
To march in two by two
To tear away the Mother from her children!

No, no, no
I have no birthright, I gladly give it up
Give it back to the family, or sell it for charity
That land is no ones

It is Gods!

And look what you've done!
Oil in the ocean, gases in the sky!
Death of the splendid life

What have we done? What have we learned...
Nothing...

God forgive them
**They know not what they do

Now days people only receive but they never want to give apathetic by nature sentiments are kept within only living for themselves only feeding their desires no one really wants to help no one really cares for one another as obvious as it is they'll only exist when they can get something out of it most people in our planet are condemned with lack of love most people in our planet are condemend with selfishness condemend with avirce condemend with SLAVERY

Golden Gates of freedom
The apple of my eye
So delicious and fruitful
But this dream has gone rotten
With worms festering
In chained up wounds
Looking to the horizon
Answers inch slowly away
Yet, ash and bones, remain
Monuments to the forgotten

Nice job everybody
You managed to be cool
To follow social stigma
To become another fool
Let me applaud your achieved conquest
Let me tell you how proud I am
Another lingering pawn of the system
Another ******* without a life

Is to be told all the ways you don't matter
It is to be angry and afraid
It is to watch people walk on the opposite side of the street to avoid you
It is to be told to get over slavery
It is to be told that I'm not racist I have black friends
It is to be told the definition of racism like you don't already know
It is to be told hey what about reverse racism
It is to have a white terrorist group dedicated to your elimination
It is to be more worried about threats in your own country and those abroad
It is to wonder daily if your family will be safe, if they will get to come home
It is to called a **** for speaking out against the hate
It is to be called lazy when you work full time to provide for your family
It is to walk past folks and watch as the clench their purse or pockets
It is to be to have people fear you, when you feel more threatened then they ever could
It is to be told that privilege doesn't exist
It is to be told you are equal, except you know that in the courtroom, in the eyes of the law, the job market, the housing market, in the classroom, it is a ****** lie
It is to be live in a world where 1 in 3 black men are in prison
It is to know that they have sentences longer than white counterparts
It is to know they use prison labor to exploit them, slavery living on
It is to know that the police which are a relief for some, are a nightmare for you
It is to know that you can do everything right and be killed by someone sworn to protect you
It is to know that you will be blamed for your death inspite of this
It is to have the life choked out of you and a man telling you, **** your breathe
It is to hear what about black on black crime, even though every race commuts crime against their own kind the most
It is to remember white flight and the repercussions of it
It is to have family who have seen the bloodiness of the covil rights movement
It is to be taught in school how great this country is while ignoring the evil its done
It is to be taught in school how little you meant
It is to wake up every 2 weeks to another hashtag of some poor black fella to be forgot in a week
It is to want to simply be acknowledged that things arent right, and being ignored to this day
It is to be villianized in the media
It is to see that flag everyone holds dear and remember that pain it caused you
It is to fight and die for a country that still doesn't care about you
It is to be told to go back to Africa as if this wasnt stolen land
It is to be told I dont see you as black, you're just the same to me
It is to be told well you don't count as black, you don't act black
It is to have your culture stolen
It is to have value placed on your mysic and style and not your skin
It is to hear what would MLK think about these protest
It is to remember that people celebrated his assassination
It is to remember the slurs and the hate he recieved
It is to have people know they don't want to be treated the way you are
It is to want whats always been denied, the privilege of walking in your own skin without fear of persecution
It is to see family, friends and peers celebrate and share racist ideas and beleifs
It is being reassured they still value you
It is to know but not enough to matter

Being black in America is a lot of things, and I love the country all the same.

But I hope and pray for the day, that we can be treated the same.

Been feelin dead
Little pieces of light
Fade everday, I think
That I'll be dying
By my own hand
Or by another
All this hate taking aim
I painted myself the target
Speaking for the voiceless
The oppressed, who are mocked
Too sensitive, cry babies, get over it
Run some dirt in those wounds...
Ahh but to be one of us, surely you
Could never understand. With egos so
Fragile, you fall apart when privleges
You so firmly deny are threated.
I'm not long for this place, this space
This mental state, this cultural
Holocaust. I'll see my way out,
Thats a guarantee.

Far too long have I labored under the cruel slavemaster of my emotions
Whipped I am by my love for you
Desperately I have tried to escape from this slavery
But crippled am I by infatuation
Here I'll stay in this cruel cruel place
Until love turns to hate
Only then will I be free