White supremacy for mayor
uttered in Wilmington.
They just chopped people to pieces.
The injustice lags the sky.
I don’t believe it happened.
I cried when I heard about it.
Can we play that again?

We do it every day,
not massacres,
although they come along.
We put people in power that hate Blacks.
We give White supremacy a place at the table
and call it by other names.
We don’t know how to count it.
There isn’t a racist person in the state.
Even a White supremacist will tell you that.

Do you know how they feel,
the Black people at the table?
Of course they’re racial gatherings.
What do we do with their anger?
We don’t know how to handle it.
It’s hatred for us,
and nobody gets better that way.
Nobody even knows what’s goin’ on.
We are stirred up by so many people,
and the unseen lends a hand.

Not all good people are good.
A Kumbaya feast doesn’t do any good.
Racial unity,
we have to address our sins first.
We have to see them there.
It’s a feelin’ we have around Black people,
even with our smiles on.
I’m sorry will you get the broom and sweep the house?
I’m gettin’ at colored folks
in the drawing room of White men.
We face each other
not as equals.
Our attitude hangs out
the beekeeper.
They are inferior to us
in our American bones.

These are racial wounds
we spit on and light on fire
in the complacency of man.
How do you get rid of this?
You shove it down people’s throats
a woke system.
That did a lot of good.
The White supremacists took over.
What do we do now?
We arrange guns
and burn down houses.
You think this’ll work?
We just break apart our nation
and cause a lot of hurt.

Racial aren’t the only issues in the sky.
There’s livin’ with each other
bein’ true to one another.
We put our cap on
and show genuine to people,
because we feel it,
the confusion of everybody
in the hurtin’ of life.
We know we’re dumb too.
We have to protect ourselves yeah,
but we take our hats off to everybody
and give them a little bit of us if they ask.

How do I get this across?
It’s a squeeze test.
Most people aren’t genuine.
Some people want to hurt you.
You have to know where to step.
You can’t carry your heart on your sleeve.
You have to know when it’s time to get out of Dodge.
You are generous but wise.
I can’t give you the roof over my head.
I can’t empty my pockets for you.

Now we come to the meaning of the Earth.
It’s not racial reports.
It’s how we all survive.
We get in with each other
to make the Earth work,
and it’s bigger than life.
We are bigger than Negroes and White men,
bigger than any gender we wear.
It’s across the great divide,
our true life and purpose.

You hear a Daniel say that today.
I’m in the lion’s den right among you,
and no one has eaten up my flesh,
but I can feel the breath upon my door
of some dangerous shit.
Can you hear me I’m tired,
but I’ve opened up humanity in myself,
and I’m doing it again.
Will you sup with me?
Will you even try?

Speak lotus,
these were reminds me
these were come up in these poems
something of Wilmington has happened
here in Pondicherry.
It’s race related.
I’m not Indian.
A parenthood of oppression
blights this land.
I’m standin’ up for my boy.
Free him please.
Don’t let this tragedy go down unnoticed.

The details would scare you,
and I’ve named them in other poems.
His name is Nithish,
S. Nithish,
and he needs help.
I sit here flabbergasted
at the amount of lies that make up this story
told to policemen and child welfare
and so many other people.

They put their Indian first each time
and the rightful law and order of the land
that made their parental rights supreme,
the underbelly the lie
that India will not wake up from.
Children are crushed by their parents,
abused and beaten
and forced to give up their lives for school.
Hours of tuition at night
kill their playtime,
and disorders such as dyslexia and dyscalculia are unrecognized.
They’re beaten for bad grades.

This is right and proper in India.
They just took my boy behind the woodshed and killed him
for parental loyalty,
all in the eyes of the law.
He has lost his personality,
had his identity crushed.
What this has done to his character
will put him in his father’s shoes,
a man who has murdered four men in Pondicherry
targeted by his gang,
on bail now for attempted murder
that never went to trial.
The case has been overlooked.
This is standard procedure in Pondicherry
if a powerful gang is involved.
People get away with murder.

I have to stand here and watch all this
happen to my boy,
and I can do nothing.
I’ve even been to the press
and contacted every major NGO in India
that deals with child cases.
I’ve threatened hunger strike,
but the divines I look to said no.
I’ve written poem after poem,
giving these circumstances,
but the social conditions of a blog
put likes in my hands,
put readers,
but I can’t arouse the crowd for my boy
and get this matter looked at by proper hands.
I can’t get off my blog.

Is this stupid,
to talk about this injustice,
to tell you my boy needs help.
I am just a Black newspaper of 1898
this happened at Wilmington,
a whole town overthrown
by White supremacists,
and no one believed them because they’re Black newspapers?

The New York Times and the Washington Post,
and all the major news,
came to scoop the story.
Met at the train station with the royal treatment,
the leaders of the coup
put them in hotels and told them lies
they all believed:
Nithish is in the hands of his parents
where he belongs,
and the Indian order has been restored,
the natural order of things;
his father’s an outstanding citizen
rich now in business,
his mother a gentle soul
that would never harm a child;
we have him in school 11 hours a day
because he’s acting and don’t want to study;
we know he’s smart,
and this is India,
and we make school the center of a kid’s life
for our national pride.
Buy me another drink aldermen,
and I’ll put in our newspaper what you said.

Would it alarm you his mother paid bribes?
Even to the authorities.
Okay, okay I’ll shut up,
but I’m a Black man in a White man’s world,
and no one listens to me.
Can you hear this?
It happened in Wilmington.