Black pride
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Haiti, Haiti, Haiti, the Land of Martyrs
Haiti, Haiti, the Land of Great SlavesHaiti, Haiti, the Land of Ancient BravesThe Oasis that the evil monsters want to betray.
Haïti, Haïti, Haïti, la Terre des MartyrsHaïti, Haïti, le Pays des Grands EsclavesHaïti, Haïti, la Terre des Anciens BravesLa Terre que maints truands veulent trahir.
Once knew this girl,typical self hatred ran deep
Like a kangaroo that hated it's own leap
She was out of pocket with her tongue
Her pain was old but her voice was young
Black Birds
Black birds, black birds
fly in the sky.
Oh black birds, black birds
why aren’t your words being heard.
"Put down the bleach,
Your skin is not dirt that needs to be cleaned out,
You are comprised of sienna,chestnut &
Warm mahogany.
Dark as the night sky,constellations are
Tucked neatly underneath your bones.
I look in the mirror
and I see
the god Shango staring
back at me.
Where I expect to see my reflection,
I do.
And yet, it is
more than it ever was.
My broad chest and shoulders,
They want us to educate ourselves
Yet when we do, they do everything to prevent it
They tell us to go get a job
Yet when we do, we are never "qualified for it"
They tell us to have more emotion
As I grew, I learned to curse this sun kissed skin.
It felt like a trap to me,
plaguing me as leper- socially condemned being…
but after I gazed at my brother, the blackened night sky,
What is ugly?
Ugly is,
My dark melanated skin,
My curly kinky hair,
My curvy figured body,
My wide nose,
My full lips
My illiterate speech,
My questionable fashion,
My culture,
So, my skin isn't too light. Some might even say it's not right, just wrong. My hair isn't long by the beauty-man's standards. It lacks in flat and lifelessness. It's curly and wild, not wispy and slight. My eyes shaded with shadows and brown.
This poem is a dedication to my son Deshon Johnson who was mowed down by a Coach USA bus driver operating NJ Transit public transportation bus.
