“A mother’s cry” – a spokenword poem

My son
If I could I would
Birth you into a world where the only colour that mattered was red
The red scotch bonnet in the iron pot
The red poppies in green fields
The red ketchup covered chips
The red blood that breathes life into you
Makes you you
A life formed in my womb
My firstborn son

I still remember
When we first met
I buried my nose into your
Neck and smelt your creases
Stared at your mouth
Your fingers
Your hair and a warmth consumed me
All I wanted to do was to protect you fiercely
A mother warrior rocking that biblical automatic
A spiritual fanatic

Silencing those who’ll hurt you
Hurt me
Hurt us
Paving your way with boxing gloves
Prayer bombs and side kicks
Building fighting sticks
Around you
Shielding you
Safeguarding you
You my son

My heart bleeds
I have to prepare you for a hatred
Of the skin that covers you
Because at some point you’ll be in situations where
All they’ll see is brown and afro
They won’t care about your internal bro
They’ll mentally try and hang you like strange fruit

The names you’ll be called under the sun
Punching gun powdered rimmed holes into your identity Messing with your destiny
Twisting your mentality
Face spat words and behind you they’ll smile at you and through clenched teeth they’ll call you
Like bullets shot at your back
You black
You black
You black
Black being the first word that comes before the cuss word
Black being the swear word more potent than the f word
Black being the only word that comes to their mind Because to them black is dirt and
Trodden on and
Monkey cries ringing out in the jungle
Do you hear the sounds in the concrete jungle
Do you hear the sounds in the football jungle
Do you hear the sounds in social media jungle
Do you hear the sounds

I am so tired

Tired of schools systems undermining black greatness Slavery is not the start
Middle or end
There’s so much more that needs to he celebrated

I am tired that paths to manhood is an education of a world where
You are the most wanted
The most hated the most deleted
Neglected and defeated.

Now go and be something great amongst the abusers
The bullies
The perverts
The dealers
The drug users

Hear my hearts cry my son

Seasons will come and go
Though you’ll fight your whole life
Strife won’t blind you for
Warrior is your name for reasons foretold
Making you bold are the promises covering your path
They hold you
God told you
Spiritually and emotionally able to overcome
Leading and trendsetting from whatever you come from
No form of negativity will hold you down son
Mum has your back fighting with you alongside you
On bended knee behind you

The is the mother cries and each tear drop that dries turns into prayer cries until the mother dies

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