There was no march.
There was no protest.
As the young black man
Lie dead from a gunshot;
Shot by a man the same race as the decease.
He didn't say "Put your hands up"
He didn't say "Freeze"
All he said was;
"You know what time it is."
As he held a gun in his hand.
The victim didn't just steal anything,
He didn't just rob a bank.
The perpetrator wanted;
His phone, shoes, jewelry, money
And even his brand name shirt.
There was no march.
There was no protest.
No CNN coverage, no interviews,
No comments of disbelief.
As a young black man
Lie dead from a gunshot;
Shot by a man the same race as the decease.
The mother wept with great sorrow,
Family, Pastor, and Friends at her side.
No march for change
No protest demanding justice
No lawyer to represent the victim
No organization to take a stand
No daily media coverage…
A young black man
Killed by the hands
Of a young black man.
And another mother cries.
© 2014 -Phyllis Strong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Phyllis, I can feel your anguish. We in Kerala (India) are going through the same agony. A girl, a law school student, was raped and brutally attacked to death a few days back here. The dead girl is sure a mother's daughter. The killer too, is borne of another mother. How could he?