Land Where My Fathers Cried
E-Mail   by Willie Christopher Tucker   Bio/Address

A bastard child
born to illegitimacy
Prowls the streets
of the inner city

Urban dweller --
hell raiser
fell into the cycle
of pain and shame.
Little Child lost.
Generation gone astray --
Creator help them through another day.

 

Substandard education.
Teacher won't teach,
"she say she waitin' on her check --
ain't no help for y'all
bad ass children,
preacher should preach"

Never went through immigration.
Never had an open invitation.
Chains on my mind,
bred into my genes
since my ancestors' times.

It ain't funny
but this shit sounds ironic --
the bastard child of today,
ain't got much more of a chance to survive
than yesterday's slaves.
Depravity and poverty
dereliction of responsibility,
straight-up manslaughter.

In this Nation,
who's going to bother?
Too worried about taxation
and increasing incarceration.

 

One-eyed monster --
got you scared as hell!
Projecting images of
predatory Negro men
locked away in prison cells.

It's this system of injustice
and inequality
that has created
the bastard child
that you see
and lives in me.

My country 'tis of thee ...

Commentary by Author

In this poem I try to address several social issues: juvenile delinquency, poverty, incarceration, the repercussions of slavery, mis-education and big government. A government that has used every means at its disposal to manipulate and control the destinies of generations of human beings. The bastard child is a product of broken homes around the world. A condition that reflects the morality and consciousness of our leaders. Similarly, the bastard child described in this poem represents a fatherless nation of people, direct descendants of those brought to America in chains. America, the country that has mothered and fathered hosts of other cultures, has to this very day denied the African American true citizenship. The chains and shackles that were used to hold the old African slave captive are now invisible, but they produce the same psychological effect as those that cut through the skin -- drawing blood.

Land Where My Fathers Cried is a poem of suffering -- hope and with god's help, a catalyst for spreading love and healing.

More Poems and Thoughts by Willie Tucker:

Urban Rose

Two Special Umbrellas

Mysteriously The Pen Speaks

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