A riot born of flames and rage
A burned up system of control
A revolt spoken with flames
Silence was no longer an option
Peace had been exhausted
The only language they communicate
Violence
The police man specialises in brutality when it comes to the black man
'Stop and search'
An excuse they use
To abuse
The 'blacks"
Used as a slur
By the oppressor
As if it's poison, as if it's something to beware
Of
The Brixton riots of 1981
An explosion ready to happen
All that was needed was a lighter to spark the fuse
13 bodies
13 humans
13 black men,
Lost to hate
Tensions rose like the smoke in the buildings
A quite smile left on the faces of those reeling
Their own kind of justice, it was oh so freeing
Retaliation they didn't expect
In their own words they believed they had 'controlled the blackies'
But we have a weapon
One that whispered through generations
Nothing loud
Just something strategic
Something quiet
A lingering secret
Black rage
A communal experience
Of built up fatigue
Of the uk's involvement
In the mistreatment Of black people
Copyright © Layla Riley-Hill | Year Posted 2025
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