Lynching

Lynching 

Looking up with tears I remember

But who can ever forget?

The many bodies on those trees

that were hung up by their necks

Lynch mob gathering

With evil intentions, hearts grown cold

Noose in hand swung over a tree

Will the truth ever be told?

From standing upon a selling box

Their final journey ended here

Hanging in visual terror

For all to see and fear

Dear White People I am asking you

How can we reconstruct

And build trust from silent oppression

When your legacy of lynching has gone untouched

These victims cry out from the grave

Like branches on a willow tree

A memorial we must build unto them

 And to all affected by slavery

Breaking the cycle for future generations

Yet around and around we go

Modern day lynching still occurring

You will never change what you don’t know

When will you exonerate the innocent victims?

Strung up for violating the racial hierarchy

Multiple sites of horror on land

What a vicious racial history

Hangman’s knot wrapped around ragged rope

Leaving photo stain of racial violence

Exhibits of artistic brutality

This strange act made no sense

 If we published the complex list of names

What would the inventory of time say?

Are we dreaming about equal justice?

Is it even possible today?

Meet me at the hanging tree

Where the fruit suspended there is important to me

There a dead man is calling thee

To right the wrongs of history

No Kink in My Hair



Growing up in Jamaica

No kink in my hair, mine was a Lions mane                                                                                                Long, thick, dark, curly hair -With oh so much texture

To be cursed as a young girl with dry, colored red by the sun locks
Too thick to tame , this was my lot in life
Hours of brushing and combing as I winced in pain
Never dare to move or else the back side of the comb would be felt on your scalp
Ouch! To be punished because of my hair
I began to hate it and want hers
Longing for her white hair, straight hair, long smooth hair, blown by the wind perfect hair
Mine was big, thick and poofy, long and heavy and hot
No pony tail could hold it, so I cut it short but an afro did not suit me
So it began, hot heat, chemicals, straightening, then finally it laid down flat and didn’t get back up
Everyone noticed and told me how pretty I looked
Confirming that before I was not
I solidified the lie in my frontal cortex and accepted that God does make mistakes
This new hair matched my hazel eyes and carmel skin
This was the hair I was meant to have

But it wasn’t mine…
So the journey began back to my roots, back to my heritage, back to loving me
Every morning I looked in the mirror at my lions mane with no clips holding it down
No heat to damage it, no chemicals to take away what was natural
I thanked God for what he had given to me and how He had made me
And a little bit of my identity returned everyday
I became glad again to be me
Happy that I had a head full of thick, long, beautiful. Glory colored highlights from the sun
How my hair began to compliment not only my eyes and my skin color, but also my journey
I twisted it, let the wind blow through it as it dried naturally, allowing the thickness to surround the sides of my face like a crown
I carried the weight of not letting scissors chop off what God had given to me
I was Free to Be…Me!
Then I began to hear “ wow your hair is gorgeous”, “I love your hair”, “how do you do those braids?”, “I wish I could do my hair like that!” and “ you are so pretty”.
I flung my head back and walked like the lioness I knew I was. Letting my mane roar for me.

So whether you have a kink in your hair or a texture unlike another, express yourself however you like as long as you make sure it is not from a place of not loving you. You are fearfully and wonderfully created, so swing your locks, love your twists, pick out that Fro and don’t let your style hold you down. You are more than your hair, you are a lioness so go ahead and let the world hear your Roar!

 

My Tongue Is the Pen Of A Ready Writer Psalm 45:1

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer

Vibrating with energy to create words that are powerful and have meaning

Deeper than thoughts, now able to bounce off walls and floors and ceilings

The voice that has heard these thoughts so revealing

Now loosed in the atmosphere forever to never return … but for all to learn and to discern

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer

To speak with intention at the mere mention of wrong becoming right, my soul in the middle of a night

Yearning for dark to become bright and the hidden to release the light

Words and energy fields rippling outward to undo and become undone

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer

Able to connect and attract and direct and attack 

To decree and agree and build and set free

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer

Never running dry of ink or lead or hand to hold or paper weight that flies away

My sounds of heaven released to stay envisioning the dawning of a brand new day

This is the pen that has been given to me, my destiny

For my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.

There is nothing heavier or any lighter than a guard on my mouth that keeps me silent

Bound in chains because they refuse to hear   

The truth for fear

Liberation is here

For you were set free long ago, don’t you know?  

On a tree blowing in the breeze unlocked by the key

So hold your pain a little tighter, shine your light a little brighter  

Get ready for my future

For my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.

 

Charmaine Hinds