Chronicles of a Ghetto

Cascades of child like laughter roll of the scarlet paved street of a Harlem like neighbourhood Infused with the liquid brown scent of human an assault on the senses Ringing of bells announcing the day of worship The streets littered with the frail bodies of the old scuffling towards centuries of ritual Glaring eyes of men stripping naked the rushing by bodies of rose scented women And the lull of lustful whistles exposing her fragility The sway of her leather clad hips inviting the desires of their life seed And gushing howls of their lust echoing in the empty halls of her soul The snuffing of white orchard powder to keep the mind in a state of numbness To shut out the cries of a mother yet again decorated with azure blotches of painful blows The cry of an orphan infant splitting the hearts of none No man’s problem for all have shed tears of raw agony and frustration Tears a commodity to poverty for there is no price for pity Their lives painted in the splendour of shades of blacks and grey's The waves of monochrome limitation their view of heaven Yet one may escape To ride the waves of diamond oceans that drown out the sound of those ringing bells That erase the memory of wood clad brooms sweeping the choking dust of mediocrity into the lungs of faceless faces Where the dazzling light of blue-brown cotton is the commodity to rainbow colours of greed and deception Yes one may escape To be imprisoned in a cell with walls so grand with the illusion of freedom Like a makeshift music box playing lies and deceit into a darkened heart Are those cascades of child-like laughter I hear in the distance of Harlem?