Dark Shadows of the Past

In this world, we black folks feel it all, The bitter and the sweet, the rise and the fall. We see the world through eyes that know the pain, And hear the echoes of slavery's cruel refrain.

Our senses guide us through a world that can be both beautiful and harsh. We see the colors and shapes of our surroundings, but we also see the scars of our history.

Our ancestors were brought to this country as slaves, treated as property rather than human beings. They endured unimaginable horrors, including physical and emotional abuse, separation from their families, and a life of forced labor.

The legacy of slavery still affects us today, in the form of systemic racism and discrimination. But we don't just see the pain; we also see the beauty and strength of our community. We see the colors of our culture and the vibrancy of our traditions. We see the resilience and determination of our people, even in the face of adversity.

Our noses breathe in scents both foul and fair. We smell the stench of oppression and inequality, but we also smell the sweetness of our own success. We smell the smoke of burning crosses and the tear gas of protests, but we also smell the aroma of our favorite foods and the fragrance of our loved ones.

We have learned to navigate a world of contradictions, where the air can be both polluted and perfumed.

Our skin feels every touch, each violent blow. We feel the harshness of the world, the cold steel of handcuffs, and the scorching heat of racism. We also feel the warmth of love and support from our community, the softness of a baby's skin, and the comfort of a warm embrace. Our skin is a symbol of both our pain and our pride. It is a reminder of the struggles we have faced and the strength we have gained.

From our first breath, we're steeped in history's pain. We hear the echoes of our ancestors' cries for freedom, and the whisper of their unfulfilled dreams. We hear the sound of chains rattling and whips cracking, but we also hear the melodies of our own music, the rhythm of our own heartbeats. We have learned to listen to both the past and the present, to the cries of injustice and the calls for change.

We taste the bitterness of loss and sacrifice. We taste the saltiness of our own tears, shed in moments of both sorrow and triumph. We also taste the sweetness of freedom, of victory, of justice. We taste the flavors of our own culture, the spices of our own cuisine, and the richness of our own history. Our taste buds are a reminder that even in the midst of pain and suffering, there is still joy to be found.

We touch the scars of those who came before. Our fingers trace the outlines of the wounds that our ancestors suffered, but they also touch the keys of our own destiny. We touch the hands of our brothers and sisters, united in a common cause. We touch the hearts of those who need our support, and the minds of those who seek our wisdom. Our touch is a symbol of our interconnectedness, of the fact that we are all in this together.

Through all the bitterness and the pain, we rise up, again and again. We use our senses to navigate a world that can be both beautiful and brutal. We taste the sweetness of freedom's song, and know that through our strength, we'll keep fighting, all day long.

But we also know that the fight is far from over. We still live in a world where black lives are undervalued and endangered. We still live in a world where white supremacy is alive and well, manifesting itself in everything from police brutality to underfunded schools, continuing the pain.