Hatred is misguided fear, but why are they afraid?
The texture of my hair, or the fabric that covers it should not evoke fear.
Painting their faces with pitch only brings to mind the question of — Why?
Does it allay their fear? But why are they afraid?
Will they unravel the hose, unleash the dogs — or burn the crosses by three?
I will still rise in the morning with the sun at my face —
No, their burning cross did not put me in my place.
What reaction are they trying to pull? We have no King or X to lead us — guide us.
I have myself, my sisters, my brothers — from everywhere.
We want to know the root of their fear, but why are they afraid?
They spray swastikas and words of insult — oh my little heart is hurt
No, not really. I will still rise with the sun at my face.
Karma slowly snakes her way through lives of privilege and poverty.
They know not when it comes. Today, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
They will have forgotten about the crooked cross or the three K’s.
They will say “What did I do to deserve this?”
They will be enveloped with fear, but why are they afraid?
Written by Liz Kelso 2016 (c)