May 29, 2020
1 min read
The knee that killed the man
He kneed me to the ground
Laughing on the phone
When I gasped for breath
He handed me a wreath.
I felt no anger
I felt no pain
I felt no sadness
Not even disdain.
For to feel is to know
What it means to be human
A simple privilege
Not granted everyone.
His eyes squinting
His lungs panting
He cuffed my knuckles
While knees he buckled.
We gave him permission
To murder our brethren
Paid him handsomely
To place neck under knee.
Endless raw debates
Loaded with race hate
The knee that killed the man
Belongs to all mankind.
Siva Raj, 2020
