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Poem

A breathless black bird cannot fly,
Yet, a drowned fish can still float in water;
You can eviscerate its tongue, but you
Cannot unring a rung bell;
But you can knee a black man’s neck,
And he’ll never breathe again;
You may oppressively beat us to the ground,
But we shall rise again;
For we are indeed,
The children of blood and thunder
And we shall not stay down:-
 
No, a breathless black bird cannot fly,
Yes, a drowned fish can still float in water;
Though the pandemic road ahead
May be rough and rugged,

We’re well equipped with bulldozer souls;
Like butterflies, we may be cocooned in metamorphosis,
Yet, we shall soar with eyes on the prize;
We’re like the circadian moon—waning—
But always waxing back to fulfillment;
Like the sun going to its evening horizon settings,
We too, shall continue to rise again and again:-

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