Poezja

Child,
denied your rights at the family
dinner table of Horatio Algers
rags to riches fable,
 
heard your anger the other night
in the sounds of her cries,
the banging on the walls
coursing through apartment halls.

Spotted the fear in her eyes,
tears she could not hide
as she ran by my opened door.
Shocked to the core, powerless,
didn’t know what to do
to break up this family dispute,
knowing all you been through.
 
What? With my hands stained red
by the blood that you shed
when you were beaten for being different?

If I called the police,
how would it haunt me?
For you knew my hidden wounds.
You knew I’ve been hurt too.
It was a secret we kept between us,
dared not speak of.

Betrayal, blackmail, cuts both ways.
Within this play, each of us, shades of grey
clouding the way. Imprisoned by chains
holding us together, fault lies
on both of our shoulders.

Looking out from this prison cell
I find myself in, the irony of it sinks in.
The ways I’ve sheltered myself from you,
how you’ve hidden from me too.
Hold up a mirror and you will see
your own reflection within me.

Divided by religions,
Superficial competitions, other isms,
victimhood - oppression cuts both ways.
Wounded, brother against brother,
in denial of our shared trials.
This fear and mistrust between us,
goes both ways.

Forgotten son,
Is this the way to succeed?
Change history?

Defeat the oppressor within ourselves.
Don’t take it out on someone else.
Have we walked in their shoes?
Seen what they’ve been through?
Break the cycle of victimization,
create a transformation of consciousness
within us. Change this tragedy
into a comedy of survival.

There is no other way to see
our original face
 
the one we had before
the day we were born.