It is the blood from the cut
that bleeds and bleeds,
and is like the dead river
flowing,
where at a time it chooses to
cease.
It is looking back in the past
with some cruel history in it,
In them, there is no heart but
A stone in cold, where it sits.
Sweats coming out in a heavy
foggy night,
And some whispers of death and
tears,
It is the bloody term where each
night is a nightmare throughout
the years.
Yet it never really stopped,
Though I wished to see people’s
views changing,
Bring in back the pigeon of peace
again,
Save the world from Racism.
