Son Of Mine

(to Denis)

My son, youre troubled eyes search mine,
Puzzled and hurt by colour line.
Youre black skin as soft as velvet shine;
What can I tell you, son of mine?


I could tell you of heart beak, hatred blind,
I could tell you of crimes that shame mankind.
Of brutal wrongs and deeds malign,
Of rape and murder, son of mine;


Butt I'll tell instead of brave and fine
When lives of black and white entwine.
And men in brotherhood combine-
This would I tell you, son of mine.


Kath Walker