Racism: an endless war

A Poem by KubiAmine

A poem excavates into the layers of humans' darkest corners. Into both the angelic and evil side. It depicts two tragedies that are based on true stories. Lynching didn't stop, its methods changed.

Quick, a thick cloud-like brume formulates the air,
The sky seems low, and gray,
A ray of sunlight comes through and on my heart does stay,

"You already know that I don't like the fog. Don't you? - It gives the world a claustrophobic feeling!"

I wait for an answer.

None!

"We already know that it is your story , but it's just unfair. Why does it have to be like this?"
A cacophony of angry but cheering voices buzz through the thick foggy air. When their shapes come to sight, they seem like a multi-headed monster sharing one brain. White skinned; hooded; men, women, even children. In a palpable excitement; some are whooping, others are stamping of feet. Kicking and forcefully dragging a dark skinned young man and pulling him riotously by the hair.

"This is not about a Kangaroo Court" a court where the zebra is always doomed to death.

"Do something" I shout, "They are going to kill him"

The screams are getting gradually and unbearably loud. The whooping of the masse nearly deafens me. The voice of my thought can't be heard anymore.

"Don't you see that?", "I see" A voice answers.

I freeze. "Then why Aren't You doing anything to help him?"
Someone from the crowd, who's holding a camera, shouts "Hang Him"
A chain is put around his neck. he's tied to a tree, and over a branch, he's hanged. He's held up in the air, to be seen by everyone. legs, arms are kicking in the air, and hopeless cries,
Whenever he tries to climb up the chain they cut one of his fingers, until he has none.
You can feel the tree quivering, unbearable to this new fruit; this strange fruit.
Shotguns, gasoline and whiskey jugs-
The fire is lit up in an atmosphere of high excitement led by masked celebrants dressed in garish costume.
Burning in a sea of red, yellow and orange, the cries of the kid echo onto the walls of my inner head. The young boy watches the flames ripping his skin, he can smell his own flesh burning every time he breaths. Clutching up in agony, fingerless as if trying to escape the inferno bellow. The pain is deep within his body, stinging and burning as if the humerus bones are smoldering, and in the far distance, thinks he's heard the Evil laughing. A tear evaporates off his eyes before its forming completion. He dies, and I wish I die, too.
Flashlights of the cameras lighten the excruciating scenery. Parts of his residual body are taken by some of the persons as memorabilia.

Quick, a thick cloud-like brume formulates the air,
The sky seems low, and gray,
A ray of sunlight comes through and on my heart does stay,

"You already know that I don't like the fog. Don't you? - It gives the world a claustrophobic feeling!,

I wait for an answer.

None!

"We already know that it is your story and it is your call, but it's just unfair. Why does it have to be like this?"

"He's Here" I whisper

A dark skinned young man running down the street chasing by "white" policemen. The first bullet that is shot from the police officer's gun reaches the guy before the air of his second respiration reaches his lungs
The second, the third, the forth before he realizes he's been shot,
"Do something" I shout "The are gonna Kill him"
the fifth, the sixth, the seventh and finally the eighth. His body collapses .He dies, and I wish I die, too.

There are some wars that simply aren't meant to end, unless they come with the end taken by the hand.

© 2015 KubiAmine

Author's Note

Thinking of writing this poem had been haunting me since I watched the film "The Great Debaters". I will be genuinely thankful if you tell me what do you think of it.

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Reviews

matrixmark

Reading this gave me genuine concern fro the guy being led to his death.
The simple wording of 'Hang him' caused cold shivers to run down my spine. When he is then paraded to the rest as he hangs, that too was unpleasant. And then came the fingers being chopped off 'one bye one'.
You really do give the reader a good feel of being helpless, unable to do anything to help the man. When a writer is able to acheive this, then they are definately doing something right.

A short yet powerful and punch you right between the eyes piece.

Mark.