The Old Black Man

....story in a poem

The Old Black Man

 

 

The old Black man,

wrinkled, bent,

was trying to get out of the car

next to mine.

He looked like he could use a hand,

so I asked, “You want some help?”

He looked at me as he stood,

“Nah, just getting old.

“You know how it is,

nothing works right anymore.”

We talked for a few minutes,

just exchanging pleasantries,

but it was the alertness

in his eyes that struck me.

His eyes sparkled,

held wisdom, and laughter,

contained the pain of his life.

 

He looked at me,

through me, and

I could feel his humanity.

He knew me with that look,

could see my Spirit guide,

and wished me well

on my journey,

to find balance,

and meaning

in this harsh world.

I don’t have the words

to express this feeling;

amazed, but with fear

at the power held in his eyes.

 

At one point,

his eyes blazed,

his skin turned ashen,

and I could feel the pain,

the anguish, and horror of

the Middle Passage,

standing naked on the selling block,

the feel of flesh

torn away by the whip, witnessing

the rape of his wife,

and the theft of his children.

Perhaps, even worse,

the destruction of his culture,

language, and everything

that made him human.

 

All this, in the space of minutes,

Then his eyes calmed,

And I felt drained,

cold,

and angry

realizing, while the forms

of this horror may have changed,

all this continues today.

 

Aztec Warrior/redzone 8.12.2024

Author's Note

....thanks for reading

Reviews

[Ken Simm.]

I've just used the word tempered in another review. I think it is apropos to your subject as well. Fine writing.

[redzone]

Thanks Ken for stopping by and for your kind words.

[Arundass TP]

Excellent writing. I loved and enjoyed this poem.

[redzone]

Thank you Arundass for your kind review