Lit not fire to gape us,
For our smiles, our sunny teeth,
Shadowed by fractured, charred lips lurked in our charcoal-skins,
Explodes our wispy, jilted streets.
So much of us had been clogged in a grave, where the beams of our eyes were weighted.
For two moon-lights, we were woven with anger, dyed with hatred for our aids; though we are one on so many tiers.
We had been lashed where our frail bodies couldn’t endure,
Undressed and our nudity piled in the open-market,
But no one could purchase us, bulimic like an unfed, stray dog;
No one dared look at us, our skins were molting,
Lined with thick films of mucus,
And our singed feet, serrated by the long trek on stewed sand.
Some of us, since birth, were serfs.
We never knew why a swallow dives in the air,
When it spreads it’s gooey feathers and brave the winds
When it shy it’s nervy vigor and swerve past our eyes,
We only see a swallow, a tiny bird flying.
At the crossroad, we lost our breathe but couldn’t rest the last hope.
It was our life, and our radical enterprise,
So we fought, dueled, grappled,
And at morn, we perfected the score; our votes racked up the dash.
And here we are, today,
With an impeccable crack on our smiles
But barely seconds away from our cages, a stretch from the narrow impunity,
We know why the birds fly, or the sun shines;
We know why the butterfly bluffs by the flower,
Not only to rob pollen to its excess wings, or to stretch the fresh petals.
We know that there is something insolent, urbane and hexing like sea water charging torrid filth;
That, there was something beyond our ken
But it’s virgin, flippant, and alluding liberty,
And it bursts our mouths, widens the lines between the two loops;
It boosts our ivories, some white, purer than milk,
Some like flakes of rust from an effete barrel,
But we all smile, for being a swallow, a wee bird.
We have a crack on our smiles, and will never shy away,
So erase your beacon, for our smiles light all our alleys.