Warnings of a Mother

Warnings of a Mother

Charmine Michelle Sylvestre

 

 

 

Little Black Boy, listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

They say times have changed when I worked the field,

But aint nothin new,

 

Little Black Boy, listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

The scars on my back aren’t from free time and play,

Each telling a story of when I screamed, cried, and tried to run away,

 

These lions and hunters are searching for something,

And it look just like you,

 

The nation is playing Monopoly with the beasts in blue,

Givin’  them a Get Out Of Jail Free Card when they pull the trigga’

 

The rules of the game were already made,

The minute they searched and stole the place they call “Land of the Free”

 

Little Black Boy, listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

 

We yell “Don’t Shoot” with our hands up high,

But our voices are covered by the sound of the silver bullet flying out of the trigga’

 

 

Keep your hands in your pockets and don’t look em in the eye,

No, not for respect,  but cause it will save your life,

 

Stop! Don’t move, there’s a target on your back,

eyes watching your every move,

 

don’t raise your voice,

yes sir , no sir is what they wanna hear,

 

Little Black Boy listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

God told us all not to kill in the 10 Commandments,

But that commandment doesn’t apply here, its their nation,

 

They got their own set of rules and sayings,

But it aint for people that look like you,

 

They put God in their anthem

While the heavens look down and take note of whos killin’ who

 

Little Black Boy, listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

Make something out of yourself from school,

Because that’s the only thing that will keep you from being called a fool,

 

You got to be 3 steps ahead to be half as good as them

Don’t get too comfortable in your position, at any point they’ll push ya down,

 

Little Black Boy, listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

Even if they hold you down,

Don’t fight, just surrender, and you’ll be alright.

 

Little Black Boy, listen to what Mama has to tell you,

 

Run. Hide. The time ticking,

They looking for someone! And I think that it’s you.

This poem is about: 
My country

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