I will not leave the room when a fight breaks out as so many liberals do,
Nor will a exploitative raid on minorities be heard as so many conservatives construct,


I disagree with pseudo liberal whites,
‘I don’t see color’ had no idea,
Malcolm wished for Guerrilla fighters to hide in Harlem trees,
In order to defend Brooklyn streets,

Just as grace becomes nationalistic,
An anthem used as a blanket filled with small-pox,
South African police beat Biko into martyrdom,

The problem arises as clips erase memories,
Wishing to live life,

No matter the color of our pupils,
If you are Assata’s pupil or Che’s,
Dreams fleeting while hands grasp freedom,
Our minds sketch the ocean breeze,

It is the sun’s rays hitting a child’s cheeks,
In which playing with BB Guns do not signal danger,

Witness chains left on the bottom of the Atlantic,
Generations of ancestors dancing above sea level,
Causing waves to crash against land not owned,
Every poet writes in the sand ‘it is a gift’…

Published by Khalid Zilberg