POEM 85: BLACK PANTHER

He is always afraid,
Looking over his shoulder.
Envied by fellow slaves
Hated by his master. 
Tormented at whim.
He sometimes wonder 
What killed his spirit?
Who stole his origin?
Who retold his story?
Yet, he hopes to grow fangs
and prey on his master

He dreams of freedom
though freedom's elusive.
Or perhaps an Illusion
for at every turn it fades.
Lost in a cloud of smokes
Lost all shades of hope.
Imprisoned in a mental jail
Where he gyms only to wishes.
Growing mental biceps 
to counter their lies.
Building mental resistance
to ambush their pranks.
Nurturing divine wrath
Stalling and waiting for dawn
A dawn of hope
When his grown claws
Shall tear the Master's flesh.
But will it ever come?

Though destitute, 
Alone, shackled to a nightmare
that plagues his days with uncertainties.
Chained with loose bands of fear,
He's slowly beating back fear.
For freedom he pants
from the crescent and star.
But just above the hills
Is another master who bleeds
From the head
The hands
The feet
And oh, look! The side bleeds too.
Promised of salvation and life eternal
But black panther would none of this.
Leave his present master 
And be shackled by another?
There is no escape from this!
Must he always have a master?
Can't he sail his ship?

Freedom is Illusion
When the hunted gets a new master.
Until the lion owns the story of the hunt, 
the hunter will always profit.
Black panther shall break free
From crescent and stars
Bearing no Yiddish cross 
As symbol of freedom.
Until then, as prey and the bait
he lies in wait
Forever, maybe.


#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA