Poem #3 Untitled

So many colored faces in a crowd

set in 1960s

apartheid.

There was beats and poets

that rang and sang

of being black.

The stars could burn your hair off.

It was beautiful, sitting there in the crowd and

listening to the song.

Love indiscriminately

never judge because

what is mine, is yours.

It was also about

rising

from the ashes.

Old tunes that’ll turn you to stone

staccato shaking in them chords n’ bones

only black frames left behind.

Old tunes

shakin’

in them

bones.