Monday, April 23, 2012

A Poem Inspired by Trayvon Martin


Given the recent events pertaining to Trayvon Martin, I as I always tend to do when extreme emotion arises, took frustration out on paper. With over a month a half of time having gone by before Zimmerman was even brought up on charges, it is quite evident that racism is still alive and well within the Americas and abroad. This was even more so evident with distasteful jabs on Trayvon's character as the world waited for something, anything to be done pertaining to Zimmerman. I, living in the middle of nowhere at the moment, waited with the rest of the world while signing numerous petitions and of course calling law makers in Florida to act (I have Florida residency). For those of you who may have been living under a rock this past month and a half, Trayvon was a young, African-American male who went to the store to go and get a family member some skittles and tea. He was seen as a "suspicious person" by Zimmerman and was shot because of it. Suspicious meaning Black in America. The public outrage came as Zimmerman was not charged in the death of Trayvon Martin prior to now, nor was he was he detained at the police station (Florida's Stand Your Ground Law being his defense). The following poem is my public outcry. Trayvon Martin after all is my generations Emmett Till.

I fear for sons unborn
And daughters yet thought of,
For to be Black in America is some death sentence
Like playing Russian roulette with a half loaded gun
What does my Blackness mean?
Others imitate the culture
Of my people
In stereotypical fashion
B.E.T. serving as some guide to us
Are we not scholars too?
Activist?
Enlightened people?
When you see me
Is it necessary to ask me
Who’s my favorite rap artist?
I am the descendant of a people
Brought over in slave ships
Who still prospered
Raped, beaten, killed, families broken
Homeland distant memory, on shores of continent unfamiliar
And still prospered
The evidence of triumph shows in every Black child born
To mother who can name them freely..
We still prospered
And yet..
I have to fear
For futures of sons unborn, daughters yet thought of
Nieces and nephews colored with melanin
And yet I have to fear?
Trayvon serving as reminder
Of what I already knew growing up in deep South…
Images of burning crosses not so long ago
Klan still active
Confederate flags waving in summer sun
Even when no wind was present
Why should I have to fear
And I refuse to..
Because my mother picked cotton in Georgia
Born in 29
And my father was labeled a “trouble maker”
Born in 23
Who refused to walk on the other side of the street
And met folks of different hue
While looking in their eyes
AND I REFUSE TO FEAR
Because before this country digresses
To the time of my mother, and my father
I will happily start the revolution
Even if I have to do it alone..
Because I’ll be damned
If I have to fear

© 2012

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