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?
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