Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

Let freedom ring, it reigns supreme. Liberty's bell solely tolls for thee. Red, white, and blue but only for you. For me, red is the blood of my brothers and sisters you've murdered. White, the ticket of privilege that buys you luxuries my melanin can't afford. And blue? Blue is the police force that engages in brutality. Its sole criteria for ending a life is colour. I pray for the day there is no news of injustice. No headlines about rapists who are freed whilst teachers are wrongfully killed. Mama, when can we stop digging graves? Help me understand when we stop being slaves. Will we ever be saved? There seems to be no end in sight to this crusade. Is it reckless, are the riots in vain? All that ever changes are the names of the innocents slain.

I feel my soul crying  immediately behind my face, the tears refuse to be released,  they only press against  the inside of my cheeks. With heavy breath like  there is a stone weighing  down on my chest. How am I to feel when they have  waged war against innocence. Retreating into myself for I am  unsure of how I can help. As futile as prayer or tossing  coins into a wishing well. Take my hand, the least I can  do is comfort you. Breaking down, I fall apart  from hearing the news. What can I do to assist  my brothers and sisters, when privilege reigns in this  poorly built system of resistance. No weapon formed against us  was ever supposed to prosper. Who am I to trust when  I can't even have  faith in the gospel. Perhaps I am naive to continue  carrying my dreams, although they might as well  be held in coffins. Leaving me burdened as they  strip me of...