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Poem

A black rose once bloomed,
In a garden doomed,
To hear jeering laughter,
Slave of the white master,
Cry, for rose bushes have thorns,
Laugh, for there are roses on bushes of thorns,
White’s grown common, see the unique,
Make them belong that’s the trick,
Often abused, hurt and exploited,
Harshly spoken to, tactlessly treated,
These buds are not allowed to gloom,
Dipped often by birth in gloom,
Discriminated for race and colours,
Plucked before age these tender flowers,
Hear their thoughts now....

               ~

As I strolled through the woods,
I heard a sign and then my name,
Called ever so softly and then the sign again,
It came from high above the treetops hoods,
A bird, a ghost or a ghoul,
Thoughts of beings good and foul,
But what a relief at the end of this stupid belief,
All it was, was my inner voice,
Moaning, tired of pretence elegance and poise,
It wanted the freedom of a free soul,
To run free and wild,
Burning hot as coal,
Yet innocent as a child,
It wanted to say what it had suppressed,
Mute and meek,
It has been pressed,
Finally deciding to freedom seek,
I gave it its desired freedom,
For I myself was battling for my kingdom,
From pretending for this world,
Hiding myself like a nested bird,
But I am now free,
You can’t tame me,
Until I wish to be.

06/09/2020
I Can’t Breathe Poetry contest

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