I wonder why…..
I wonder why I was born black…
I wonder why my race has to be critically discussed and considered the way it has been
Why were we considered primitive? We turned over and provided freedom to another man who kept us in slavery?
I wonder if we’re primitive enough that we left legacies others race cannot erase from their history.
I wonder why we gave them cultural practices to discuss and study, making their book reports and thesis writings so professional and adequate.
I wonder why they call my family “black people.”
I wonder why they claim all I do is cause trouble.
I am aware my history wasn’t written by my fathers, so the good things about us aren’t mentioned;
like the wars we fought; they never speak about their true root causes and or ones who instigated our struggle.
I wonder if they can tell the existence of a black man’s strength is immortal,
if they can tell his nature is that of God.
Knowing that those who hate us are those we gave love and respect to after they bought us.
Why was I born black? A question that stimulates my adaption to this race!
Why do I get treated against humanity, because of my genetics? This is deeper than a tragedy!
Why does my color irritate another race, when I get closer to achieve success?
I wonder if Black means darkness, I wonder if it means pain.
I am also wondering if my Government remembers its purpose or its origin,
like the way our ancestors were frustrated and decided to let go of slavery.
I wonder why…
I wonder why I was born black.
I wonder if my continent is meant for slavery.
I wonder if peace is meant to be kept afar I wonder if my race still remembers the songs we sang when we worked as slaves.
I wonder if we still feel the number of lashes received when we refused to speak out for our own sake.
I wonder why the pain around our women eyelids remains when our daughters are receiving the wrong philosophies.
I wonder if the people who are called “Black” are black enough to uphold their values and accept their cultural differences.
I wonder if those who call us Black aren’t black enough to see us as the ones who were smart enough to build their systems on our father’s backs.
Still I wonder why…
Why my blackness is attractive in God’s eyes as other races won’t admit?
I wonder why my mind works mysteriously;
That when I sit with they who condemn my race in classes, I excel with an “A”.
Let this piece of poetry remind you…
“Black” remains an achromatic color,
Literally a color without hue,
Like white or I mean its opposite.
I will never refuse to acknowledge my color because God birthed me,
I will never let another race make me believe that I don’t belong to royalty.
Authored by William Anderson
Featured Picture by Sendhil Mullainathan
