770900
8
I cannot cry
for the children
of the others;
the deaths of my own
have drained dry
the wells of my eyes:
Sunken deep in caverns
of ever-growing grief.
Ghost voices scream
chanting echoes
of ebony cries striking
lifeless tambourines
no longer vibrating
and jingling
to the pounding beats.
Maggot woe bitterly weeps
and apathetic metamorphosis
proliferates as sagging breast
mothers survey dying faces
of children facing self-imposed
sable community-genocide—
a viral racist syndrome—where
the oppressed empathizes
with their murdering oppressors.
