They are the ones who are solaced
by elephants in the room,
prodigious and grey they
suffocate
comfort
smother them
and lash their trunks
as they protect the elephants’ tusks from poachers,
getting wounded in the process.
Tried for treason;
relentlessly cursing King and country,
while pulling poison darts
from their swollen ribs.
They are the ones
that break free from the tower
graffiti it
Entwining spray-paint with freedom,
with red paint inside artistic hand
so we pull up our hoods in shame,
we cover up our natural,
then blame the kids for their self-hate.
The shame seeps through the walls of high-rise flats
And pretty suburban neighborhoods
White picket fenced houses
The kids, solaced by elephants in the room
Spray paint in artistic hands
watching us sleep or go without,
watching us eat or starve
and build up and hate,
explode, breaking walls,
only to fall to our knees
and re-build them again
with dust at dusk,
blowing in our dry, crimson eyes.
How would you know which flowers grow by whose grave now?
The garden of our soul outgrow their cage for days and days
with plastic cups spelling messages,
interlinked in gray chains,
and all smell the same.
They tell us we should join together,
With them, graffiti producing children
We will link arms and share our hope,
we will look forward
while all the past rises up in smoke.
Our red flags wave,
Riots and fires, fists thrown teeth lost broken bone fights,
stand tall.
Our smiles are tired but with our hands hardened,
we’ll stand strong,
We stand as one.
Red flags reflect in red eyes,
Riots, fires, fights, stand tall.
Tired smiles and hardened hands,
stand strong,
Stand as one.
❤️❤️
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