Today, I had the powerful experience of being part of the march that took place in New York City starting at Washington Square Park. I wanted to share the images as well as a poem that was written in honor of Mike Brown and other Black males murdered in the summer of 2014 (and prior). I thought the words were relevant in today’s social climate. I’m still feeling energized, moved and left questioning “What next?” after today’s events. Images can be found here.
The night was long—
Black dreams were missing like Black bodies buried beneath mahogany mud— stretched from Mississippi to Mandingo sands.
Dark souls descended upon hot streets blazoned by ghetto flames,
Burning upon the breast of fiery dark places,
And streams of red blood crept six feet beneath the hard surface of Ghetto Earth.
The night that challenges the light of the Sun,
the darkness of the night stalked the Son—
At once closing his eyes.
He is now blind to his Blackness,
While hues of crimson Blues encroach upon his dark skin.
The night, the shadow of his Blackness, appears so with emptiness—
Eclipsed stars, the fallen dreams in his skies,
Give way to a broken moon—which is his crescent heart.
Then, I felt his mother’s tears, drenched upon Black garments that draped her supple, sable lap.
Prevailing in audacious echoes were sorrow songs,which provoked shrieks of wild thunder beneath the Black veil that hid her eyes.
We forgot about her because she was hidden behind the shade of our darkness.
She is our tomorrow—the sparrow and her song
which bear the light of morning, piercing the darkness of today
like the full moon and moonlight that leads to a new day.
Weeping, though it endures for a night,
Joy sits at the edge of dawn—
A new day forthcoming, which says to us . . .
The Son will arise
—By David E. Kirkland
***Title was inspired by the words of David E. Kirkland. For more thoughts on politics, education, and moral justice please check out his blog site: https://davidekirkland.wordpress.com ***