Oh, to be Black and Blue!
In a world,
where the Optic Whites are mixed
with the blood of Tar Black suffering,
where the foundation of white excellence is underpinned
by the squealing and hissing pipes of black contraptions;
Is Brockway not the Atlas of the modern world?
Oh, to be Black and Blue!
To be invisible yet so blue,
Where the sweaty, pudgy hands of the colonizer
still discover a way to push the invisible
head-first into violence,
where others, trapped in a perpetual nightmare,
still muster the power of despicable loathing
to utter words shrouded in centuries
of violence;
What benefit does invisibility provide?
Some use the shroud of concealment
to silently waste the symbolic power of white society,
choosing to stay hidden and alone.
Others galvanize powerful ripples of dissent
beginning with the defense of the most vulnerable,
choosing to spearhead a revolution.
This is the greatest show:
Colossal they come, these renegades in the ring;
from cold iron shackles,
to the caricature of Sambo dancing for the whites,
this time not controlled by the plantation,
but by an invisible black string
slyly coiled around the darkened and worn hand
of a turncoat.
Is there any place in the tangible world,
for an invisible man,
physically tactile, dark against a backdrop of white,
but still imperceptible in the mind of humanity,
as worthy of attention?
Whether it be on the streets of Harlem,
or the coal-dusted basement of a White apartment,
resistance is a survival strategy:
Oh, to be Black and Blue!