Pulitzers
Photo: Miami Herald, Patrick Farrell

The winter has our time and thoughts raging on the seas of flight we abandoned on the Nile.

On a voyage of stolen dreams and stolen tears, the chains of their passions withheld our flesh.

Cries in the night are heard in the silence of our doom as they forfeit our rights to breathe.

Sailing to the forsaken land of their captivity, our days are consecrated with whips of directions.

We are detained on the land of our freedom and ride the four horseman of death to encounter life.

Singing the days of humiliation for our souls to be delivered, the hands of apartheid steals our wombs.

Cries in the night set our emotions for battle and the wings of mercy foretold the inspirations of time.

Without warning we ascend to the drift of education to claim untold journeys of infallible declarations.

The black man I am; the black woman I am sustained time of unwarranted decrees of your aspirations.

Your nature of love propelled me to heights of learning beyond your capacity of our understanding.

Our cries in the night travailed the wheels of destruction; we chartered hills of words of articulations.

You told me illiteracy would be my prison; the White House became the architect of my intellect.

Surpassing the dreams you enslaved me with, I enslaved you with inventions of tomorrow still standing.

Crowned with insights of unknown qualities, the scalpel of my hands makes history in your history.

The cries in the night beholds the tears of a mother when she celebrates the king and queen of her womb

In the eclipse of time, our lives swiftly became the handprint of life without your directions of obscurity.

With your license of justice, we encounter the profile of your death with the uniform of your safety.

Your corruption of my mentality gives me time to reflect on the way that I should walk in your presence.

Seen in the corners of my mind is your deception of my race; I adjust to time, only not to breathe again.

Cries in the night arraigned the day to collapse my life with your hands up to write my ending.

Showcasing brilliance in the degree of natural composition you naturally arrest my mind.

On the position of life, you gave me a life sentence of slavery from birth to death for your workmanship.

The workmanship of my life produced the imagination of unearthed requisitions far beyond your reach.

The cries in the night created the obeisance of riches for my pain to engulf me in unheralded freedom.

I transcended the opposition of your choice to behold the selection of my choice of influences within me.

On the seas of your affliction and the fields of your guidance I am lifted up on the shores of my ancestors.

Walter Scott
Remembering Walter Scott

Planted with the prayers of affliction, we are delivered for purpose of astounding creativity in time.

 

In the cries of the night, creation was unearthed with tears of a culture seated on white’s only seats.

 

Written by Theodore Mosley

March 10, 2015

Posted by Damita Miller-Shanklin

damita@ujimamagazine.com

#theodoremosley, #poetry, @paigeturna, #ujimamagazine, #walterscott, #blacklife, #ourblackcommunity, #blackmen, #blacklivesmatter