Each day, before our very eyes
Are sights that turn warm blood to ice;
Each horrific inhuman act
Spreads blackness upon impact.
Here we sit, so safe and tame,
And glibly deplore and exclaim,
But, before you point fingers,
Address this one thought that lingers:
What makes us all stand apart
From those we brand as 'without heart'?
What if we were the cursed ones
Born to wield the knives and guns?
What if the throne of wealth and fame
Was suddenly ours to claim?
What voice is strong enough to say:
"Pure I am, and pure I'll stay"?
After all, history is tainted,
Its pages with black painted
Where the power that the oppressed wrest
Did their own minds with black infest/
The world is no chessboard-stagnant,
With blacks and whites so still and constant;
No soul is born with black tattooed
No manner born uncouth and crude,
No heart can claim as inherent
Its whiteness and good sentiment.
How dare we cite religions, races
To blindly blacken innocent faces?
Both White and Black, with unity
Sleep within Humanity,
Co-existent Yin and Yang
Until they're woken with a pang.
Who can predict the mind's courses
When the heart is ravaged by these forces?
Only a will well-tested by Fate
Can keep its path unfailingly straight;
The rest of us, in our cocoons
Of undeserved and lavish boons
Have no right to judge, decry
Or even sententiously sigh:
Our so-called scruples are empty claims;
Un-followed rules of un-played games.
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