I look through old family photo albums ,
I see a man who so much resembles
Myself ,
But whose life has long ago
Passed
And I pray ,
I plead
As if god would turn back time
Make things right ,
Just For me…
Let there be light
In his eyes -
As if god would
Consent to a heartbeat
In his chest .
Why do some die
Who don't deserve ,
And those who live
Have the nerve
To waste the gift that
Was stolen from him .
One night ,
One cold ,
Moonless ,
South side Chicago night ,
He died .
Alone in the streets…
Bullet wounds from two racist policemen
Took him off his feet .
Mother wept -
She still weeps .
And I cry ,
Because I never knew him .
And as time passes by I
Notice his absence even more
And it makes me so very
Hateful and sad .
But sometimes….
I look in the mirror, and
I see my uncle and
I see his eyes ,
His lips ,
His nose ,
I see his height
And I see the light
In my mothers eyes ,
When she looks at me .
She knows, and thinks the same thing
As I .
In a small way he
Had always been present ,
Alive
Inside of me -
I like to think…spiritually
And vibrant in her
Memories...