Under the soul shed
We were each given different skins
By the master form-er
So I ask
Have we stopped dancing to King Jr's groove?
Is there a reason not to feel comfortable in our own skins
As if we have something to prove?
I see black thoughts march
With limping legs of revolution
I see black veins burst
And spill into society's tear rivers
Leaking into twin lakes
Does the colour of blood differ
Under the soul shed?
let's ask the master form-er
Blood spilled yester-night into the eyes of pitch black night
So this morning is blind
Even the "common" cocks are mourning
They refuse to crow
So there's silence on the lawns
What's the value of a historic scorn?
Does it rise in value or devalue like currency with time?
Buried on winter froth
Harvested, in summer
A black kid tripped at the edge of sun's feet, he falls
Into tears of spring
Between every gun shot and the dead body
Is a crying bullet with a sad story!