An Elegy for Trayvon Martin, a poem

light

 

It was dark

Night loomed

And rain fell gently

As he walked in silence

Only his thoughts

To keep him company,

But he walked on.

Lights gleamed

Behind him

Focused on his steps

They followed slowly

And his heart,

Unsure of what it meant,

Filled with worry and fear

But he walked on.

He plucks his cellphone

From his pocket

To call, perhaps

To calm his nerves

His every step followed

And there’s nothing left but fear

But he must walk on.

The car door opens

And a man follows

Every step taken

He looms in the shadows

And what can this man expect,

But fear even from an innocent heart,

For his looming presence stalks,

Assured of his own conclusions

But Trayvon must walk on

For what else is left?

Footsteps quicken

And a gun is raised

It is too late

Nowhere to run

Alone in the dark

And afraid

He fights for his life –

The thrash and bash

But it is not enough.

He calls out in fear

But no one listens

And the one who follows

Certain of his own conclusions

Shoots at close range

And now there is nothing left

To run away from.

The duel complete

The man hides his gun

And the young man

sprawled in the bloodstained grass

hides his only weapon

a bag of candy

snug in his pocket.

And somehow

The man has the freedom

To walk away,

For justice

Is often blind.

I don’t care

The color of Trayvon’s skin

I don’t care

his past or present

I don’t care

his troubles

I care only –

about the truth

How a man chased

And followed

Another with a gun

Despite being told

To stop

And a young man

Ran in fear

With nothing

To defend him

But a bag of skittles

Held tight in his pocket

And somehow

This man is still free

To walk the streets

Head held high

Assured and arrogant.

Little does he know,

He shall never be free

For the truth shall always haunt him.

 

© Sumyanna 2015

Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: pluck

 

Image courtesy of Pexels.com

For those of you not familiar with the case, you can search for “Trayvon Martin.”

Advertisements

16 Comments Add yours

  1. 7128788elf says:

    Great poem, and a shameful incident. In Yeoville the inner area of Johannesburg that I worked in we had lots of similar cases, and because there were so many they did not even make the news. We went on march after march about the situation, but it has not improved. The novel that i have been writing for so long, is another of these types of incidence: A man was shot just over the road from my house, I phoned the police and the ambulance, but both took over an hour to come, and the man died. The shooter, put away his handgun and walked away, and so far as I know is still out there. The case was never properly investigated. The man who died was a shabeen (local illegal pub) who lived two houses up from me, I used to buy vegetables from him. They were renting from a slum lord, who rented out even the toilet, so that 17 people lived in the house, as none of them could find employment, they sold fruit and vegetables to pay the rent, but when the landlord found out they were sellin he put up the rent, so they start the shabeen to cover the extra rent. At the same time 2 policemen moved into a block of flats at the end of the road (about 500 metres) from my house, they started a shabeen at the entrance to the flats, and phoned in complaints to their colleagues against all the other shabeen owners in the area, so all the other shabeens were raided daily, and their booze conviscated. To help my neighbour, who also ran a shabeen, I drove arround with his booze hidden in my car, and gave it to him as he needed it. One of these two policemen, cornered the dead man and shot him, with out any altercasion taking place. Soon after most of us left the area.

    Like

    1. Sumyanna says:

      I could not imagine. For most of my life I have lived in pretty safe surroundings. I would be scared to death to have something like that happen here. It is possible… anywhere – but it would be so unsettling. I have told you time and again – your life is filled with such amazing stories. I do hope you write them all down. I seriously would buy a copy.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. 7128788elf says:

        Am writing them in the form of a series of poems, which when published will have prise pieces in between to lead from the one poem to the other. Watch this space ….

        Like

        1. Sumyanna says:

          Yes, I noticed your new poems and their style. I am a huge fan, seriously. I love their story telling and your stories are captivating. It’s not everyone that has such an amazing history to tell.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. 7128788elf says:

            Thanks, though am struggling a bit to find the time to write, maybe, I am just trying to do to much.

            Like

          2. Sumyanna says:

            I hope you get some time for yourself, but know that while you are not writing – you are observing, living and breathing the stories that later will become your poetry 🙂

            Liked by 1 person

          3. 7128788elf says:

            Absolutely, life goes on, and as it does stories are rooting in the subconscious, ready to bubble out into a poem.

            Like

  2. leigha66 says:

    Wonderfully written… a truly tragic night.

    Like

    1. Sumyanna says:

      It truly was – it startled me and I guess that’s what prompted me to write the poem. Thank you.

      Like

  3. That made it so personal! Thanks for putting me in his shoes!❤️Anne

    Like

    1. Sumyanna says:

      Thank you. I could not help but wonder how frightful it must have been for him in those moments.

      Like

  4. That’s very sad

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s