Do you think I can cry over
those mountains that seemed like shattered skeletons?
Or the mother of a storm
breaking over my complexion
leaving behind lesions? No, they were not
the acne of an innocent teen breaking into puberty.
They were cancerous weeds taking over
verdant fields. My pride dissolved in the suddenness
of lightning of that rapine. I can think of the stricken
look of my integrity being walloped into a prison
of miserable voices shrouded in corners of humiliation.
Does history account for the mordacious coming from afar?
If one can unthank innocence for welcoming such invasion?
I was a mother and father to my own soul until then.
Were the asembly of gods with me?
Or did they form a serpentine queue into a convenient snub?
I am no river that wanted to submerge into the ground
in pain and suffering, dried up due to the villainy of others
But was it a heritage confounded by fate’s depravity?
How can my body be the fortune of my enemies?
All native peoples have suffered this prostitution!
I have been prostrated at gunpoint; I am not pale,
I am brown; my convictions have walked with me,
Even when no sibling or friend dared to walk with me
to challenge a treachery that besieged me. But I am clothed
in pride, despite the tatters I wear. Evil are the ones who
do not want to suffer for their historic crimes
But want to take advantage of the vulnerability of their victims,
and continue their misbegotten dominance
Is there a doorway for truth to avoid the ambush
and speak out for itself like the true messiah
among the evil febrile minds who seek to garrison it
to keep their tyranny alive?
How many of you would want to walk under a sky that rains justice?
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