31 March 2012

[Poetry] Held Captive

Every book has been combed.
Every amendment and doctrine flipped.
Searching for the intangible life-changing cure for it all.
Through the loopholes and exceptions, I have looked…
Until, alas, I spot it.
Art Credit: Keenan Chapman

Dangling helplessly off the crooked lips of the law, there it is:
Hanging limply onto the poisonous particles of those promised to protect and serve.
Flailing about the jackets of those who make a mockery of it
By playing “keep away” from others who lack proper pigmentation.
Trying to catch the attention of those who ignore humanity and proudly flaunt corrupt practices.
But a blind eye is turned towards their blue-collared foes,
                Allowing them to suffer mercilessly while authority figures laugh menacingly
Greedily using prison funds as their personal piggy banks
Filling jails and coffins with the hopes and futures of innocent minorities.

Justice cringes.
Battered, bruised and stuffed in the confines of law makers’ pockets
Only released for aptly-suited arranged conjugal visits
Forced to produced fruits like a sex slave

Kendra James, Emmett Till, LaTasha Harlins, Sherrice Iverson, Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell, Rekia Boyd, Ron Settles, Bernard Beard, Tyisha Miller, Kendrec McDade, Troy Davis, Terrise Smith, Lorenzo Collins, Randall Ramsey, Jordan Miles

And the list grows daily
                Names to match docket numbers and death certificates to appease their appetite for fear.

Miserable sociopathic anomies, they are
Oh, how great they must be
Going through life inflicting, but not experiencing, pain

Pain is watching your son’s killer enjoy the luxury of claiming self-defense after initiating confrontation.
Pain is hearing your father receive a twenty-year sentence based solely on the lies of a convicted felon.
Pain is seeing your child reach for a wallet and get riddled by fifty police bullets.
Pain is knowing that police officers are getting rewarded for justifying murder with an article of clothing.
Pain is fearing that your child may not come home after walking down the street to the store for a snack.
Pain is hearing your child’s last cry for help in the background of a phone call after he has been in a morgue for three days.
Pain is having to remind your child to look like a prospect, not a suspect, because there is a bounty on their head based on their skin color.

Pain is genocide sneakily being injected into our veins as we glamorize exaggerated lifestyles.
Behind the swollen eyelids, above the bloodied jaw and underneath the sliced skull, justice knows our face.

One day, we shall be reacquainted.


No comments:

Post a Comment