Black Lives Matter
The moment the clip rolled—-
cold rain of adrenaline hassled
down my spine and narrow nerves.
In Gorge Floyd I froze—compressed,
suppressed into miniature casket—-
“I can’t breathe”—the resonance of this
mighty fight of tints and taints against
the ground, as a knee slices through
my throat—he kneels, in order of State
Sacrifice—one more scape goat will
do today, or perhaps, a black sheeple.
Dusk dawned on my noon—I supped on
salt dust—crippled on plaintive waterfall—
my soul hung on cobweb; sling falling
in the abyss of my subdued skull.
I glowered numb—-coalesced and
collapsed into myself—escapism
escaped me; so I sank deeper
into the ocean of Existential Hate
that tends to skin me alive—putting
an embargo on my ration of breath
as I gatecrash my public obituary—
facing fire-spits from bazooka mouth
bullies—gobbling acrid bullet tablets
to cure my genetic skin decease;
is to hang on a hangman’s guillotine;
on trumped up etiquettes—-the
'gravesands' on my shallow grave
hold bound my frail spirit to eternal,
age-long ransom and foster-slavery.
I see a cluster of stars—MLK, Dialo,
Arbery, Michael Brown, Eric Garner,
Breonna—the more I look, more I see;
clad in old-gold brown, tainted in
clots of maroon ink, from ‘hole’ of
hell, jungle of death—aimed and shot
at—the grand prize for Human Hunt;
point at and kill, the fattest lambs
to entice thirsty gods—mixture
of blood splotches and 'donkeysweat',
trickles of teardrops irrigate the land
with infestation. Oh! Mother Africa!
Are we the lambs for cutthroat ritualists?
Copyright © Destiny Izehi | Year Posted 2021
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