Poem: The Caged Bird Still Sings

We all thought
that the caged bird
of Harlem
was let out of its cage.

After it sang a plea
and hit its tender wing
on the cruel metal bars
of its cage.

But the bird is still not free,
and the bird still sings.
And the bird still beats
its wing on the bars.

For outside,
where the sun sets,
there is freedom,
but in confinement,
the bird still lives on.

It lives on in the lives
of its descendants,
who still suffer in the same cage.

and the happy guile
that was uncovered years ago,
in Ferguson,
is not there anymore.

Visitor

It's so strange
that I'm just passing through
but everyone here
has made memories.

I see through the eyes
of a little girl,
who went to her friend's house.
They were sisters.

I see through the eyes
of an old woman.
Generations after her,
a child and her child.

They were sisters,
but then one left.
"Daughter, I'm sorry.
We're leaving.
Your sister is leaving too."
Her tears could have
filled a bucket.

But I'm just passing through.
My memories are elsewhere
in my head.
Maybe I'll just settle here.

Unapologetic

I wear a piece
of fabric on my head.
Sometimes it's white,
and otherwise it's red.

But sometimes I wear it
blue, black, or green.
I wear it along with
my manners and my deen.

You may look at me
with hatred and with scorn.
But I'm sorry to tell you
that I'm not sorry at all.

You think that I'm oppressed
but in reality I'm free.
I am freed from society
by this piece of scarf on me.

So when you try to hate on me
and put me beneath your feet
I hold my head high
because there's nothing I can't beat.

My name is Fatima.
My religion is Islam.
I am Muslim and that's the way I be.

Capricorn

Capricorn
I’m supposed to be
responsible, disciplined.

But a storm swirls around
the inside of my head,
Like the leaves swirl around
in a whirlwind storm.

I cried because
I saw everyone rising to sing
the national anthem
in unity
the day he won the election.

My heart broke because
after all that had happened,
An ice rink full of thousands
all joined together in voice.

I would throw hatred
into the Bermuda Triangle,
and I never want to use a gun
 Because I don’t want others to hurt.
I’d rather have the barrel pointing at myself.
I’d rather be the one hurt.

I’ve never told someone I love them
because I’d rather make it clear
by the smile in my eyes.
but I never smile for pictures,
somehow my eyes are deeper without a smile.

I’m named after my grandmother.
And I miss the other one
like the trees miss their leaves in winter.
My heart is like a barren winter wood
Nothing but trees and snow,
where the woods are lovely, dark and deep.
And I can say that
I have kept my promises and earned my sleep.