Black Is the Colour of Bitterness
The White masqurades hate us sore
but we hate ourselves more.
They have a problem with colour,
we have a problem with culture.
A black man is rejected for his skin,
while a white shadow is accepted for his sin.
I see a foe more vicious than racists:
a creed of cruelty among black apologists;
I hate my brother for his tribe and history...
How I choose mine is still a mystery.
I am a flower vulnearble to western flood,
but a thorn in the flesh of my blood.
We create our own natural disasters
and seek help from white fraudsters.
Blaming our leaders through the press
is the way we try to clear our mess.
We claim that christianity is white deception:
no religion was created from life's inception.
Islam is said to fuel terrorism and hatred;
show me a religion that is wholly sacred.
As long as mortals are imperfect,
our creed and culture will so reflect...
Shall we end this war within
or remain western waste-bin?
Arise my brothers,
let us secure our blood-bothers!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
