Born on the circle of the sun
my innocence was kissed
by a melanin mist
that came up from the ground
and blackened my skin.
My armor from the sun
Could not protect me from
my whiter brother
from another Mother-
Nature, who always favors the fittest
we disrespect our own species
by favoring means over genes
and homes over chromosomes.
Selling our souls for fool’s gold
all we’ve known is what we’ve been told.
Instead of reading a book
we get baited and hooked
on the ignorance,
which becomes our reality
TV Housewives and Hip Hop.
While our lives play out on cryptic screens
it’s hard to see behind the scenes
The War on Drugs–police brutality
so what we’ve been
is what we shall be.
written with the ink of onyx blood
has spilled onto the pages of our present.
Killing, lynching, spraying, beating,
dogs on leashes biting and eating
the flesh off my Fathers . . .
The Blood Spangled Banner yet waves.
So, I dip my pen
into the blood of my kin
as it cries out from the ground
with Abel’s sound
Somewhere between “I Have a Dream” and “By Any Means”
I hear the voices and screams
of Malcom X and Dr. King
shattering the corridors of time
like bricks through stained-glass windows
as blood, black and thick
gushes into my innocence.
© Brian L. Evans
Excerpt form the book “Divided Lines – A Poet’s Stance”
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Foreword . . .
In a world of ever increasing advances seemingly created to make our lives easier to manage, envisioned to bring us together, to draw us closer, we are still in many instances isolated and at odds and validly apart. Something is missing, there is a snag, a rip, a hole in the spiritual fabric that we all see; yet we continue to fail to address.
It has been said by self-proclaimed philosophers, theologians, scholars’ and politicians that the abuse of words can be a danger, there are those that believe words are a leading factor in what ills our society. Of this we do not deny in full, there have been abuses, history is but a melody to that fact, yet it is also true that words have the innate capacity to bridge, to heal that which divides.
Opinions, views, religions, nations, people, even love divides. The focus of this book and the poets here in, is to give breath to a wide range of issues both small and controversial that lie beneath the surface. Things that we are often hesitant to discuss. In saying that, I will offer that the role of a poet is not to persuade or to add more rhetoric to the static we hear. A poet’s responsibility is to shine the light of awareness, to create a platform for dialogue, for healing, to gather up the images in an attempt to understand what we see.
Demitri Tyler, Author
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