Prisoner 6593-4

Prisoner 6593-4 I don’t have a name I have a number Will my kid’s ever call me Dad? Will I know when they call me? Do they know I’m not that bad? When I hear my name will I remember? Or will my number shout out loud? Is it because my skin is darker? To them I stand out in a crowd. The men with sticks they stop to beat me Because their God is not the same as mine They say I kill for my religion But still I drink the blood of wine The orange suit in which they dress me Only hides the bloodied scars But I prey the next time my children hold me It won’t be from behind these racist bars. But one day I will see my children One day they will call me Dad They will never see my terror Or the suffering I have had.