Poem #6

Red bodies on trees replace green leaves.

Their blood replaces their sap.

Crows eat their eyes instead of fruit.

The sun glitters on the dewy settled on the naked bodies.

Their voices stump as the night approaches.

People jubilate in front of this white hood.

The next day, birds will be gone to make way for flied and rats.

It's only the first of these sad meetings.

Trees will be useful too

So that whites play with blacks for a long time.

Poem #7

Black people used to be enslaved

Black people used to be in cotton fields

In New York, children hear the noise of work always

In New York, we can see homeless guys and ghettos nowadays.

Blacks have the right to sit in the front of buses however

They live in Manhattan never.

Sweat is trickling down our foreheads but

We are not close to nearing our goals.

One of us reached the American dream in our society,

He lives in the White House with his family.

This success sometimes has a bitter taste in my district

But also gives place to hope as music.

Poem #8

Everybody says I am a monkey

They say I am ugly.

Nobody understands me,

I feel so lonely.

I just want to live in a country with justice.

I just want to live in a world in peace.

I just would like to be able to sit on the bus,

But they don't want us.

I would like to have the same rights

But unfortunately I'm not white.

I would like to change the mentality

And to have consideration, not pity.

Poem #9

Our love is a forbidden fruit.

But hidden, it is so sweet.

The scent of flowers in her hair,

This partition is unfair.

Suddenly, goosebumps overcome my body;

Overt, our love is going to rot.

It would be the final stroke.

I never can hold his hand,

Otherwise I'll be hanged.

The fear to die in suffering,

The fear to lose that loved being.

Poem #10

In this South...

In the deep South,

Youngsters and aged ones work in these white and soft areas.

They sing in unison like free birds in Spring;

Their singing gives rhythm to their work.

In the deep South,

The others gloat.

The light of the fire reflects in their eyes;

The ground is marked by their red steps.

In the deep South,

Reigns a dramatic and horrible atmosphere.

The wind brings the smell of warm tar,

Branches are creaking like bitter screams.

This South is the world of whites.