I prayed for him. Last night
no holds barred,
his life-my-life.
Stars in the firmament
of my biography were
on death row with us in the dream that came later,
as though changing places levels injustice -
or there’s no difference between us in bad times or good.
The some-when-saviours of mine
stood in his shoes; I witnessed them
who’d showed the way, in the death cell losing their light.
My innocent
brothers
shuffled with his feet.
We punch the air -
if the killers do not come. There
were the mentors of mine, I swear, wearing his face
in place of these white ones.
Our fingers fold slack hands on dead wrists
if such miracles might not be shared by midnight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
stunning, compassionate poem... we should all feel the guilt of this tragedy!