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  • Writer's pictureLola Sofi'


I cried for someone else’s child today

It could have been my own

My tears breaking past the raw numbness I normally feel, I groan,

I moan, I ache for the brown skinned boy with the brown eyes, begging for his life,

Pleading for his humanity to shine through his brown skin,

trying to avoid the strife, avoid the knife of his cutting attackers words and tightening grip

that literally squeezed the life from between his lips

And with a knee on his hip, the spirit of the brown skinned boy ascended to our Maker.

I weep with his mother, I grieve, I ache for the others - the brown skinned boys of old and the unfortunate ones that come thereafter -

Surely, more brown skin and red blood will line the earth underneath before we decide to treat this societal ill like the plague that it real

Like the enslaved mom watching her beautiful brown skinned baby being beaten, shackled and taken away as she and other brown skin’s mothers lay prostrate before our Creator to pray,

I too, lift up my eyes and say,

“When, God, when??”

He answers - “Weeping may endure for the night but Joy (with a capital J) comes in the morning”

“But why, Lord, why??”

He answers - “The thief comes to kill, steal and destroy but I AM (in all caps) come that you may have life and have it more abundantly.”

I say, “I’m angry. I hate them!”

He answers, “I’m angry. I love you.”

I say, “I weep.”

He answers, “I wept.”

I stay silent...

I grieve...and I heal in His presence

While He keeps His loving arms around me

and the brown skinned boy

as He wipes the tears from our eyes with His joy

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