Transitions - Mr. C

Someday, a child will be born who will not have to suffer poverty,
Hunger or disease,
Will not have to beg, on bended knee,
Or have any need to plead.

Someday, a child will be born who will never know bruised skin
Swollen lips
Swollen eyes
Damaged goods at the hands of her husband
Father, uncle, brother.

Someday, a child will be born who will succeed in the face of adversity,
Graduate from an accredited university,
And will never succumb to pseudo-democracy
Because,
She will be that leader,
He will be that leader,
She and he will lead together,
With respect,
With sharing,
With passion and pride for what one does,
For what one says
And for how one will be seen.

Someday, a child will be born who will write the last poem
Sing the last song,
Film the last movie,
Speak the last words ever seen read or heard,
And everyone will know they are witnessing,
That they have witnessed the supreme spectacle
The most definitive declaration,
The time stopping,
Eye popping,
Crowd rocking,
Super-sayan, uppercut, death blow to all those who’ve tried before.

Someday, a child will be born who won’t be harassed by witless comments,
Won’t respond to halfwit comments
Won’t waste time or energy on anyone’s comments,
She and he will be confident
Because his and her mother and father
Will have raised them not to ignore the comments of the ignorant,
But to enjoy them,
Because the fact that they’re being said must mean that she or he is the center of attention,
The middle of perfection;
The keynote speaker at a huge convention;
The creamy center filling of a flaky confection;
They’ll know that people only hate what they cannot have,
Cannot be,
Cannot contain or irritate, and it
Angers and confuses them.

Someday, a child will be born who won’t have to worry about living on a block
Where cops get shot,
Where, rocks get copped,
Where, glocks get cocked,
Where, Pop drinks gwap,
Or at night, while trying to sleep after four hours of homework and putting two younger sisters to bed,
Shot’s go POP…POP…POP,
Past her window…But
When…
Is…
This…
Day…

That day is today

And so,
For all those students who’ve quietly marched through the past 740 days
Never had convictions fazed,
Never had intentions swayed by some fashion craze,
Never cared about what colors, what street, or what flag was praised,
About who rocked what fitted, or some Bathing Apes,
Cared more about their grades and keeping their families amazed,
Didn’t have to worry about a time waste on MySpace,
Or where they’d go next, after schools blocked Sconex,
Cared more about the friends they could see,
Than who was on their tag-team.

That day is today!
Because for the last three years I’ve looked forward to the next, but
This year just ain’t quite like the rest,
Watching my seeds sprout, bloom, and be picked for another school’s bouquet.
I know I should feel okay, or even a little happy, but
Not today.
Not today.

From little boys to young men
You’ve grown.
From small girls to young women
You’ve grown.
Seedlings planted in fertile soil, you’ve grown,
Courageous caterpillar to vibrant butterfly, you’ve grown.
And that day is today!
Your wings will unfold,
The wind will take hold,
And you will soar

Because for the last three years I’ve looked forward to the next, but
This year just ain’t quite like the rest,
Watching my seeds sprout, bloom, and be picked for another school’s bouquet.
I know I should feel okay or even a little happy because that day is today.
That day is today!