Years Poem by Rue Palmer

After 400 years,
why are we still crying black
holding on to god, and begging
for food, wondering when he will
come to save us..

After 400 years why are we
black peas growing potato cotton
infested hanging on to pig gut and
grits, wishing well and tarot cards.

After 400 years
why is my sister still walking the streets
selling mama shakers, and brothers
standing on corners talking trash, and
making fun of my blackness every time
I make a mistake, or mis a step up..

After 400 years
why am I still here, black as ever
down playing the drama of life, why is
education not free, how much more
can we learn, when every time I awake
my memory disappear..

After 400 years
when will we go home
to the pleasures of eternal bliss..Like this! ?