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Art Black Women Poetry

So Join Her Truth

So Join Her Truth
I’m just a child of the wisdom unseen and the last moment in time
The first words in free verse and last moment in rhyme
The first vowel rehearsed when consonants are inclined
Travel towards reverse when forward is the design
Legitimized under the starlight and glass clouds
Emitting the stars rays from the roots under the shrouds
Certain death challenged by an uncertain life
Fervent breaths amongst the cold of an unfurnished night
A sleek subtle breeze against the unmatted tweeds
Dancing gently in the heat of a wind unbound by the needs
Needs reprieved by untold wealth and a world of vagueness
Hidden beneath a lack of stealth; a cloak of flagrance
A patient of my willingness to experiment a student of my queries
A lawyer in front of the jury of my conscience and victim of my theories
O weary is the need for justice so weakened by its journey
Yet hardened by its travels and wise beyond its earning
So dear are those lessons learned below the overt oppression
The indirect direction given by suffering unjust aggression
Thank you to those clouds both severed and lasting in the skies
Thank you dearly for your strength I say to the tears that leave these eyes
These eyes who have seen so much, the tyranny of evil pursuits
The gravitas of the a world unclean, and lied to by bitter truths
Such grieving in the mouths of witnesses to the atrocities
Such heaving into mounds the meaningless ferocity
Piling into an unconquerable mountain of hate and loathing
Its height leads to blind seething rage innate to oathing
Those oaths which belong to only destroying benevolence
And to the passing beneath, and untrained evidence
Oh god, oh fate, enraged, oh hate you’ve left me to my fears
Living humble & straight, and heavy of faith I lay victim to the jeers
To the ones who’d have me chained against all of my strength and will
Partitioned from my freedom and departed from my skill
The soil beneath my feet telling the tale of the fastest and swiftest flight
The darkest and most drifting of means deeding freedom in the night
Nay shall I wait shall I want for my rights
The wrongs of the days that would take hold in the night
And spawn a loved hatred, a hate for the love spawned
A birth of unclean at a newly driven dawn
But that unclean washed dearly by unbound love
Nourished by womb of memories descending from above
So much emotion they conjure, so many thoughts does it summon
That unanswered question of “Ain’t I a woman”

By Desmond JaMaal

Desmond JaMaal is an activist, writer, doula, and scientist with a love for people and a joy for life. Raised in South Florida by way of Mississippi and the Bahamas, his life has been a mix of cultures that has blessed him with enough experiences to grow and love.