Black RosesBy Osamase Ekhator
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This black
hoodie is as
black
as my
black face.
This hood that covers, gives the same trouble, the hood has over,
my nose, neck, and stressed shoulders.
Boulder sized soldier because boldness in my boney bones is bulging,
building compulsion to control composure,
but fuck that, every black boy has his explosions, maybe erosions too.
The Rose that rose from the concrete, not complete. Yet
he said
we ‘wouldn't ask why a rose that’ had rose from the concrete had ‘damaged petals,
in turn, we would all celebrate its tenacity,
we would all love its will to reach the sun’.
You see my son, my daughter,
my brother, my sister,
my father, my mother
‘we are the roses’ and ‘this is the concrete’.
But Amaru didn’t know this
concrete would still be a battleground
for an unending war.
This hood that covers, gives the same trouble, the hood has over,
my nose, neck, and stressed shoulders.
Boulder sized soldier because boldness in my boney bones is bulging,
building compulsion to control composure,
but fuck that, every black boy has his explosions, maybe erosions too.
The Rose that rose from the concrete, not complete. Yet
he said
we ‘wouldn't ask why a rose that’ had rose from the concrete had ‘damaged petals,
in turn, we would all celebrate its tenacity,
we would all love its will to reach the sun’.
You see my son, my daughter,
my brother, my sister,
my father, my mother
‘we are the roses’ and ‘this is the concrete’.
But Amaru didn’t know this
concrete would still be a battleground
for an unending war.
Osamase Ekhator is a Boston College graduate and a life time poet. His work has been previously published in the Cathexis NorthWest Press. You can find more poems from Osamase on Instagram, @osamasetorbest. He will be releasing his first chapbook, "Situationship" on March 30th!