Dark Days

Take me from these dark days
Take me to my roots
Take me to the time before “the West” was won

When the color of your skin was a mere trait
As inconsequential as the shape of your ear
Before rich men had weaponized the notion that
Divided we fall

For some of us are different
And some of us are weak
And some of us are superior

Or so they say
And so we believe
Transforming into pieces on a checker board
Identical in every way but color
Pitted against each other in endless battle

While they take our things
And our bodies
And our hearts

Oh but see now half of us have woke
And wish to remain on this checker board no more
Some of us have looked up and now remember, that
We do not move ourselves, but rather are moved
By two pairs of rich, pristine hands

Always with their fingers pressed upon our backs
Pushing and pushing until they tire of the game
And put us neatly back in our box
Where they don’t have to see us
Or hear us

Until they return to play again the next day
And the next day
And the next day after that

And all the while we are screaming and begging
For the others to look up and see
That they too are pieces
In a rich man’s game

Wishing they could also see, that
Once there were lighter days
In a time before “the West” was won
When the beautiful, beautiful East
Rose and shined in the sun

And each day our day began
And ended
As one