{STOP CRYING MY SISTER... PLEASE STOP CRYING} LAZARUS RISING FROM DEATH
THE TALE OF LAZARUS THAT PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND...
http://youtu.be/ehtJC_cXjA8
I can hear my sister crying... I listen as she tells me the story of her abandonment...
She tells me how the system has violated her and my soul grows hard...
I wanting to go out and rip the arms from it and beat it down with its own parts, welfare and child support... Prison and Ritalin.
I try to tell her how these things that seem to be charity and meant in good will are but tools to drive us into the pits of a man made hell where we are burned in the fires of hating each other, deadbeat dads and welfare queens.
She turns away and I feel her detachment for these things evil have become so dear to her...
She still cries and her tears fall from her face, her shoulders heave.
Her hair straightened by perm, her skin lightened and bleached.
I walking up behind her turn her around and wipe the tears from her cheeks and offer her a tissue...
The truth I know will only make her cry more for it involves a scathing rapport full of leaving the trappings of the beast behind.
It will be hard crossing the desert of finding ourselves.
It will be hard leaving Christmas, Easter and the Fourth of July behind... Holydays wrapped up in bundles of lies, such pretty packages as the coverings glisten in joyous color.
I tell her to tear them away and her breath catch's in her throat as her eyes grow wide, she in her surprise looks away, it so much easier to follow the things taught to her grandmother as a black mans body swung in the breeze as a warning not to make her sons strong...
As she watched her daughters bear mutated children, they born lacking a full dose of melanin.
She taught that slavery was her mans fault looks at me and I can sense the doubt, the hesitation is strong.
She looks around and I can see the children peeking from behind her torn dress, a boy and a girl and I know that I must change her mentality to save them from the psychology that has made her such easy prey.
I take her in my arms and speak to her in a low subsonic tone that resonates in her soul.
My scars tingle and burn.
She cries and her tears stain my soul.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
