Poem: Lost

I think sometimes you need only direction...
Skin: black - obscene; blood: red - like everyone else.
Cursed hand that bullet released,
Innocent, but fabled Cain in guilt.

Some say you are hidden from God himself
because you are black-skinned
and guilty as sin because of it:
guilty of being without morals or direction.

You are a black man in White Africa.

Prison clothes do not suit your youth
And I wish that you had your direction
A Purpose: For even the smallest ant knows its purpose on the earth.

And yet... the White race rules righteously...
But is not God, Tixo above all?
Above the green valleys awash with the smell of blooming flowers

Or is he more like White than black?
Absent when you needed direction
Leaving you lost and alone in a strange White world.