WHO WILL SAVE THE BLACK CHILD?

WHO WILL SAVE THE BLACK CHILD?

Who will save the black child
from the troubles that trail him from home?
Who will save the black child
whose ancestors until now have faced woes?

His eyes are an abode for fear
and his head, a home for unrest.
For his heart has been severed and separated from peace,
he knows no bliss that the white child sees.

His home is tattered
and his parents look haggard.
They can not decipher deeply,
the pains he struggles with.

His lungs are poisoned, he hardly sighs.
His heart is troubled, and he hardly takes a deep breath.
His feet are weak, they hardly move.
His lips are gummed, they hardly smile.

Life crawls out of him with every sweat that emanates from his face,
the earth becomes emptier when opportunities miss his way.
Anguish and pains have been his companion
in his attempt to survive daily in the slums.

Who will yet save the black child
from the unseen tortures he battles?
Who will save the black child
from the storm in his heart which rumbles.

The black is the sad child
that roams the street crying for help.
The black child is the child that perch on the gutter to charge his system.
The black child is the child that knocks on your door, reaching out for money.
The black child is the child that looks so down, begging to live another day.

But who will save him
from these storms that shake his ship?
Who will save him
from these troubles he faces on life's seas?

©Aj Maverick
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