I shot someone
A while back
He told me I wasn’t good enough
He called me ‘Black’
I tried to make him see light
Told him my colour doesn’t speak for me
But all he thought is he was right
And my inner worth he failed to see
His men at me laughed
Called me dirty names
I guess it was their craft
To play these evil games
They think they’re so much better
With their snowy skin and golden hair
That they can’t pronounce a letter
Of your name with a bit of care
They smoked weed
And exhaled on my face
In my mind they planted the seeds
Of discrimination of race
I begged them to give me a chance
I wanted money so bad
But half of them were in a trance
Failed to see that it’s all I had
It took them a minute
To stand up and say
“You do your job
And we’ll go our way”
They gave me a gun
And a bit of cocaine
Told me to have some fun
And washed my brain
As I stood up to leave
I saw some of them playing with a slut
Another took out a dagger
Getting ready to cut
I tried to escape
But I heard a shriek
I ran to the corner
And I shot the freak
I ran away
And I hid near the gutter
As I was holding my breath
I could hear three of them mutter
I loaded my gun
And faded into the dark
Their snow-white skins caught my eye
As I made my mark
I pounded them with lead
And breathed relief
Made them a gutter death bed
And took a pinch of my grief
The world is dark
And so am I
I have no place to go
No reason to cry
I pressed the gun upon my temple
And asked God, “Why?”
I did not once tremble,
A drop of tear flowed out
As I started to die
As I laid down
And stared at the starless night
Hoping that Heaven wasn’t different
For blacks and whites.
About the Author
Rohan Mukherjee
Ridiculously omnipresent | CEO & Founder of Grayscale Legal | Fellow at The Kairos Society | Percussionist | Doodler | Professional mocker