The right colour

Society demands
the rightshade, the perfect colour;
nothing duller than Desdemona’s
Alabama white.
Thisspectrum of conformity,
of relentlessly searching for another
tone lighter is a duel without a winner.

Cut us open and we bleed the same,
and yetstill we confine ourselvesto
labels of purity and sin.
Black blood is not cheap,
stare into the irises of the women who weep
and see mothers who wanted to hold
their child in her arms,
not bury them six feet apart.

Children, who instead of toys,
were served with bulletsin casings of alloy
while strolling down the street
or envisioning the future in theirsleep.
They hear the sirens when all goes quiet.
Black blood is excessively shed,
while the innocent fill prison beds
simply because it is marked

the wrong colour.