History Blackened Soul - Kym Chapman

Black soul,
darkened by my story,
our collective history.
My dignity was ripped from me,
when I was put in chains,
shackling my identity.
My world was torn apart by destroying my ancestry,
Redefining who I can consider my family.
Denied me the stories that I would have been told,
if I'd stayed in the land that was originally my own.
Placed me in the sun to work for less than sh...
But the sun?
It only blackened my skin, while hardening my spirit.

Our collective history repeated in our story today,
But unlike the slaves of old, we no longer fight to save our world.
We watch as our families breakdown,
because parents are separated or might as well be.
Robbing ourselves and our children of their identity.
Instead of fighting against what wants to keep us at bay.
We sit around and say that we dream of a better day.
But we only dreaming.
Correction - we only dreaming of dreaming, not even dreaming of fighting.

Burns me that all those...
years and
marching and
writing and
singing and
walking and
talking and
studying and
inventing
is now being blackened by our present story.

Because now we're killing time on the street, selling our selves short.
Marching past the college's without a glance at the open door.
Writing only what others wants us to say (of course being politically correct).
Only singing about how my booty is making you sweat.
Captivated by the lore of ghetto royalty,
instead of aspiring to be the true kings and queens our history wanted us to be.
We are no longer blackened by our history.

We don't face the sun anymore.
Afraid we'll get blacker than the way we were born.

Our history grew out of the heat of the blazing sun.
Yet our present has been cooled to almost arctic temperatures.
But...
Our future though is still ours to mold.
We can stay inside...
Or...
Step out into the sun and reignite the flames of the black soul.


Copyright Kym Chapman