It hurts to see the world as it is,
where the oppressed are bound
and the power abusers succeed.
To feel their hatred for a child
because of birth and colour and
creed, and the dreadful damage
being done to violently vanquish
good through evil.
===============
The child begs on the street, and
for centuries pleads for coin and
she sells her body for grubby
notes and loses her sharp sense
of self, and the ghosts of the past
mingle with the spirits of the
present; showing them the
sheer hopelessness of ever
being better.
===============
The man stoops, old bones
in a young mind. His back
bears the brunt of racism
and hatred gouged into his
flesh. His once family, now
gone, and he grieves for
the countless children lost; to
vile ideals.
==================
She snatches sleep, while the
proud company sells her life
in garments, made while she
sleepwalks into stick thin
limbs, that crumble and break
like her spirit, under the weight
of western greed for cheap cat-
walk prosperity.
================
A once prophetic song, ‘When,
will they ever learn?’ And still
we go around and around with,
grasping greedy bodies, reaching
to enslave- to expand their profits,
and subdue dissenting voices,
until their own hearts harden and
souls shrivel.
==============
And is God good? A face,
diminished by the slaves lash
and the wrongly accused cross.
He cries out for the oppressed
and the free and – Like a dove,
hope flies on, and on and one
day, our restless wings and the
white dove, will surely rest
in the sand.
