BROKEN ALPHABETS
B. L. A C. k are broken alphabets Scribbled on the banks of the wooden ships that sailed through the Atlantics when dawns were free but dusk in bondage To be born black they say, Is to be carved by the left hand of God Wearing the wrong side of the skin of man' Stained with images and songs, poems in chains, cages and whips That make one think of a better home in Hades. For every now and daily My head flip thoughts like Bible pages Sometimes, my mind tiptoes into memories only God can erase; -of mothers at the riverbanks of Babylon, crying out for Zion -of Luther King in the cores of Mississippi 'love became the opiates of his age' -Sometimes, it's the breeze breaking into particles of violence only Malcolm could quench. The sun is risen again and like vowels, we became questions on the tongue of Hughes; 'What happens to a dream differed, does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?' Or maybe it scorched, cracked and broke into seeds of grape soaring higher Like stars at the gates of heaven. At a time, 'it sagged like a heavy load' In the shape of hate, filling the lungs of Tupac with verses as bitter as truth unfold; -they never see our struggles, they only see our troubles. They say' 'Freedom' is a word with broken alphabets too. But as time grows beards Broken alphabets became stars And every shine glows black-tifully. Yet, like Rosa parks- the voices in my head keep stuttering; 'It's one thing to be free, It's another to claim that freed self.
©Kyenshak Polycarp 'the poetica' For the Black History Month
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