Poetry "Ancestors" by:Nubian Star

I bet our ancestors are angry
Angry our backs are scar less 
Furious that our hands have
Never labor in any way like
Their calloused fingertips
We have no idea what cotton
Feels like pure from the ground
Under a hot Mississippi sun
At high noon
Can’t even imagine what it must have been
Like to watch my daughter be raped
By our master
Her father
I would guess the souls of those
That built what I now benefit from
Turn endlessly at the ignorance we resort to daily
Giving homage to them only in February
For 28 or 29 days
This country’s roads are paved on their graves
Haunted by their continual misfortune
The lives they were told they should be thankful for
Treated less than animals
Forced to pray to a God that didn’t even recognize them as human
Made to sing praises to a deity that demanded they give their blood
As worship or be punished
Monsters yielding
Black leather bound books
With gilded crosses
Filled with foreign markings
Inhuman teachings
Unrealistic requirements of devotion
I KNOW our ancestors cry out in rage
Every time we pick up instruments of hate
And kill one another
Behaving like the very ones that
Stole us in the first place
I bet our ancestors watch us now
End Point

Written by: Nubian Star

 photo nubianstar_zps50e90ce9.jpg