I wrote this poem January 2017. I tried to picture what it would have been like for a person of color, during the time when segregation and racism were common, and how the voice of an innocent child could make a difference. I'm aware that this poem sounds a bit sing-song like Dr. Suess, but decided to share it anyway.
I once sat in a leather chair,
I heard them gasp, I felt them stare.
I heard the clock tick tock nearby.
When no one touched me, I let out a sigh.
Then I heard a shrill voice shout,
"You don't belong here, Get out! Get out!
Our new leather chair so clean and neat,
until a black man sat upon its seat."
Slowly I stood up, I could take no more,
I heard this rant many times before.
"Sorry ma'm my eyes can't see."
I grabbed my cane next to my knee.
My hands were shaking, my knees were weak.
I ached all over, I did not speak.
As I slowly walked towards the door,
I heard young girl cry out "No more!
This hatred isn't what God planned."
She took my calloused weathered hand.
"He is black, he's not our kind."
The old woman quickly spoke her mind.
"Color isn't something I can see,
for I am just as blind as he."
A small child, so kind and wise,
I let the tears flow from my eyes.
I felt her small hand upon my face.
At that moment I felt God's grace.
She led me back to the leather chair.
Then I heard her child like prayer.
"Please dear Lord let others see,
that they are blind, not him or me."
I waited once more for someone to shout,
You don't belong here. Get out! Get out!
Instead I heard a deep voice say,
"It took my daughter to lead the way.
Bring him a stool to rest his feet.
Give him something hot to eat."
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
I heard the old woman ask of me.
I could not believe what I heard,
the old woman speaking a kindly word.
"Forgive me sir, for I was blind.
My heart was cruel, I was unkind."
The old woman then began to weep,
The room was silent, not a peep.
It took the words of one so young,
to cut the hatred from her tongue.
YOU ARE READING
If Only Love
PoetryI wrote this poem in 1987 during the time of the Ethiopian famine. Last year I changed a couple lines, and this is my updated version. When I first wrote this poem I was only 18 years old and hadn't had children yet. Now after nursing 7 children, I...
