Can we go back?
To before history was written with white hands
on white pages
telling white lies about our worth?
Can we go back?
To when history was written with black hands
in black ink
traced with black ashes from our phoenix rise?
To a time before parched lips, thirsty for justice
would chant anthems of
bodies sold
worth gold
history old
pain told
memories cold
but hope bold
and we have awakened.
Can we go back
before molasses were drawn from more lashes
before whips tattooed hatred on our sons’ backs
and made their mothers’ wombs churn for their deliverance?
Can we go back
to when what lay in the belly of a black woman
was a powerful prince instead of a political pauper
or a sad, statistic waiting to fall prey to a world
unready for the revolution he embodied?
Can we go back to when
blackmail was love letters sent to a Nubian princess
black market was where suitors would buy jewels to adorn her
black magic was the spell she cast with just once glance upon her beauty?
Can we go back to when
black meant more than…not white
more than “emancipated slave”
more than oppression wrapped in passionate, ebony defiance?
But the road to redemption is never easy
and sometimes the only thing harder than going forward
is going back.