...The SaintsAwards Project...

Poetry

The lot of the Blackman
By Njoku SaintJerry A.

Shout your head out
Stretch as much as you can
Do your own thing
Change your color if you can
But you'll stink still

Somebody think he could change the whole system
He stared at me in awe
Feel my skin...rub off some soot if you can
I got it from the cellar
From the mines...
In the jungle
Lifting logs, digging graves
Gleaning every mess that could fetch my meal
All the cursed jobs I labor

O' My God...this sun is baking a cake of me
What a lot I get out here
Striving out the lot of the deprived
The destitute, the lost souls
Ages long ago
Before Lincoln said 'not again'
How could you make a beast out of God's lovely creation
The greatest of the sons of Abraham

See him darts like bustard
All over the field of labour
One who reigns in all sports
Ask the Americans
They will tell you
Why they wouldn't let a Black Moses
In South Africa
We'd asked for too much
Though the lot is ours
Didi was clubbed to death still

But both Black and White made he them
And as dear to God is the Poor Peasant
As the mighty Prince of a Cat

Why the hell you don't
Turn green or blue O' Colour
And let this Blackleg become Blacklisted
In the annals of all Blackmails
And let a Blackout
Usher in a new beginning

Shout your head out
Stretch as much as you can
Change your color if you can
But you'll stink still
That's all you get for being a Blackman
Honestly there is so much pain
Suddenly all we Black fellows
Run to make the church
We flock all over the whole system
Come Lord Jesus Come we whine
Let the earth roast
And we be free

So you see us scampering
All over the places
More church, more labour
More flocking and much more force
But no money
Respite come far
That's the lot we get

Come Lord Jesus Come
Before we the black folks fault this trend
And consult the devil

SaintJerry A. 2000