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The Unwished Death.
Look here and there.
You could see the shooter, their blue and red siren lights have given them away.
You can see the commotion, the stampede, the chaos.
I’m scared, I feel my body acting on it’s own-impulsively.
I see myself join in the race for life, panting, struggling with the other running bodies.
There it sounds again, I don’t want to look behind me for the fear I know.
In an instance, I’m on the ground and can see the people running.
Trying to avoid crushing me with their panic.
Then everything I’ve learnt and experienced play in my head like a video tape. What have I done to deserve such a life of insecurity?
Every day more piling bodies, more heart gripping sounds and anguish that need consoling.
“Hands in the air”, were the words I heard which brought me back.
Around me was no one, they all seemed to have vanished.
Obeying and getting to my feet, I see them, the men in the dark.
Could I’ve chosen my skin colour in my mother’s womb?
Could I have wished for straight hair and not the wooly one on my head?
Could I’ve wished I was never born black?
That was the last of my thought.
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