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A breathless black bird cannot fly;
Yet, a drowned fish can still float in water.
You can eviscerate a bell’s tongue
But you cannot un-ring what’s rung.
You can knee black men necks
And they’ll never breathe again;
But while oppression may beat us down
We’ll never fail to rise again.
For we are the children of blood and thunder
We will not stay penned under.
A breathless black bird cannot fly;
Yet, a drowned fish can still float in water.
Though pandemic roads ahead may be rough
And rugged—we have bulldozer souls.
Like butterflies cocooned until their due time,
We too shall soon soar with eyes on the prize.
Like circadian moon waning in her reflective time,
We, like her, will approach our waxing in due time.
Indeed, like papa sun, daily warming horizons’ beds,
Like he, we too are deemed to rise again and again.
A breathless black bird cannot fly;
Yet, a drowned fish can still float in water
Albeit it all may be, why should similar black birds
Seek to destroy each other’s nest?
Though a drowned fish can still float in water,
Is it not still a drowned fish, floating?
Indeed, reflective thoughts float buoyant allegories
In the mind’s sea of deep awareness;
May these wrinkling waves, frothing to shore, foam
Them with divine wetting awareness!
P.S.: The mind’s dry sands of time await wettings.
Leading is not always about being in front
But is often that of being the echoing gull from behind
Flying and cooing: “Forward ever; backward never!”
