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Victor Kwansa Poem
The word’s speaker and listener would hear
Cackling,
Not from one another,
But from a burning Sixo;
They would feel
As though
A noose was choking
Their voices
Before they could even tell
Themselves to “rest in peace”;
They would see
The bullets
That rushed,
Jealously,
Into the bodies of intelligent black heroes and heroines;
They would taste
The blood
That could have filled all the courtrooms
Where racist murderers were not convicted;
They would smell
The human
Waste of those treated like human waste –
A stench strong enough to make some jump
Ship just for a breath of fresh air,
Before the waters
Then enslaved them ….
These effects may sound
Insane
But are they any more
Out
Rage
Us
Than our current
Usage of the “n”- word?
That is,
Many of us would say nothing
If a black friend declared,
“A ______ will never become the President of the United States of America ….”
To be honest,
I even agree
With the essence of this statement.
For only a full black man or woman
Will
Eventually
Become
The President.
Thankfully,
That still leaves all black people in the running.
Copyright © Victor Kwansa | Year Posted 2005
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Details |
Victor Kwansa Poem
As a child, I wished
I could refill
Sky-blue plates
With old grits and scrambled eggs
And raise sons that bled to death during night-labor.
I thought this would resurrect souls
Prematurely swallowed
Six feet below
By the black holes
On Earth.
When I prayed, I cursed
The Angel of Death
For not committing suicide
Or at least aborting Murder.
After God found me,
I helped found a new Garden of Eden
By killing
The Venus flytrap
That feeds off a human's flesh and last breath,
And releases non-essential elements
That even suffocate
Air.
I committed
These acts of kindness
In hopes of being found guilty
Of premeditated
Prevention of murder
And eventually being
Given
The life-after-death sentence.
Copyright © Victor Kwansa | Year Posted 2005
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