Epilogue (Conclusion)
i am a child of weeping,
i cannot lie or pretend.
the voice of those that hunger,
the face of those in need.
the cry for justice amid injustice,
the stand for equality and fairness.
the torch of liberty and human rights,
that burns without identity.
the sweat of god fallen
on the dust covered road.
the whimper of the holy child,
held in his mother's arms.
the needle laid down,
the slave set free.
the prayer of urine and blood,
the common body of love seeking love.
the hands and the feet,
nothing more and nothing less.
and destiny, but this,
to paint with raw color!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Human Blood, Angry And Red!
i put on my black skin
to walk through your lily white churches.
i spoke not a word...
my silent body exuded,
years of poverty and oppression,
discrimination and hunger.
i laid down my shackles
on the steps of your courthouse,
i spit blood on your law books,
human blood, angry and red!
and the woman i slept with,
walked beside me step by step.
she bore my children,
i washed her feet with awe.
we spoke and listened,
forever equals...
take down your sign,
ribs are made to barbeque!
my son fell in love
with a young painter from France...
a delicate young man,
features sharp and clear.
i spent dinners in their company,
conversation that cut darkness.
stunned, admiring... their devotion,
their love wrapped in thought.
i laid down my shackles
neath the altar in your church,
i spit blood on your holy books,
human blood, angry and red!
i turned away from your armies,
took the needle from my soul.
shook off the shudders of ignorance,
and laid down my gun.
sold all my possessions,
walked away from debt induced bondage.
stuck out my thumb,
and headed high in the hills.
i slept neath the trees,
could hear the song of the river.
whispered to the owl,
lying close to my dog.
intimately knew every star by name,
every blade of grass,
and the coolness of stone.
speak, o wind, speak and deliver!
i laid down my shackles,
in the chambers of your progress,
i spit blood on your agenda,
human blood, angry and red!
i crossed the border at midnight,
silently moving, shadows in shadows.
with nothing to lose but my life,
nothing to gain but my life.
hands eager to work,
heart eager to dream,
believing in the impossible dream,
of freedom!
i laid down my shackles,
at the foot of your Statue Of Liberty,
i spit blood on your Constitution,
human blood, angry and red!
kill me freedom!
rip the heart from my chest.
i wear your scars
on my back and my face.
bury me in equality,
let my name be every name.
rip the skin from my bones,
let my bones be the steps...
on the path to compassion,
on the road to human kindness...
let my memory be fairness,
my image be joined hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Child In Your Arms
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
I know it's hard to understand
Why I was taken from your hands
One day we'll meet again
Mother and father hand in hand
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Pick a star in the sky
And see the twinkle in my eye
As I send you my love
From heavens above
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
All the new mothers above
Giving their love
To the new born child
In heavens above
Mother father watch over me
And jesus will watch over you
I feel your love in heavens above
I'll see you here
When it's your time to come
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Oh mummy dear
I see you and daddy so near
My life as just begun
In heavens above
So don't be afraid to live your life
Be glad and happy to what comes to you
I'll keep you safe as I watch over you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Child in your arms
Will always love you
Sweet child in heaven
Sleep in peace
I hope you see all you want to see
Be who you want to be
God bless
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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I Am Human, I Am Love!
i am the stranger,
the drifter, the hobo...
the rebel, and the lost one....
my voice is a small whisper,
my body a twig.
i am the gift left
on the doorstep of the unwanted.
i am the prayer
that even god does not hear!
i am the child no one wants,
the woman no one loves.
i am blood on the hands,
i am guilt, and forgiveness.
i am the old man's touch,
that no one wants.
i am the child and the dog,
that love the old man.
i am the stray cat,
curled against the step.
i am Judas weeping,
and Magdelene made a whore.
i am the young gay boy
condemned for loving.
i am the soldier who cant
bring himself to kill.
i am the pregnant young girl
who cant tell her parents.
the old man with cancer,
who sits with a revolver.
i am the parent who failed,
and the child who walked away.
i am the broken, and wounded,
i am human, i am love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am... (The Rage Of Love)
i am the gun,
in the hands of the thinker,
the last road, the last chance,
the last prayer, the last door.
i am the sickness,
that greed inflicted,
that apathy wont touch,
that stinks at the table.
i am the parents,
burying their child,
i am the stranger,
burying the parents.
i am the poor,
denied the word freedom.
i am skin of color,
covered by tasteless white skin.
i am the rope,
hanging from the rafters.
and the holy book
that tied the noose.
i am the drug of charity
that denies involvement.
i am the token gesture
made by hands that never open.
i am the dollar and the dime,
and the vast wasteland between.
i am the sound of books burning,
and the crackle of flesh.
i am the cry for justice,
lost to the din of noise.
i am the noise of ignorance,
that shouts defiantly at stillness.
i am the face of the small child,
whose parents just died.
i am the rage of love,
too long denied!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Battles of Fairness
Fairness?
To honesty, fairness is Fair,
To sincerity, fairness is Accuracy,
To integrity, fairness is Absolute!
To the law, fairness is JUSTICE!
To dedicated public servant
FAIRNESS IS MORE THAN A SALARY,
MORE THAN TEARS, MORE THAN JUSTICE,
MORE THAN SWEAT, MORE THAN HONOR,
MORE THAN LOVE and
MORE THAN JUSTICE.
But to the twisted society
FAIRNESS is
BEYOND DOUBT
and BEYOND
QUESTION!
I have no doubt,
I have no question.
The gavel is yours.
But...
you can't stop me
remembering
December 10,2010.
poem by Susan T. Aparejo
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Yesterdays Child
Roy orbison/bill dees
I see the face of yesterdays child,
Living in a state of in between.
Is there a place for yesterdays child,
Searching for an unforgotten dream?
Looking for rainbows at midnight,
Hoping tomorrow will come.
Will time erase for yesterdays child?
What will the child become?
I hear the voice of yesterdays child
Echoing my name, my name, my name.
Is there a choice for yesterdays child,
Seeking shelter from the falling rain?
Chasing a butterfly lover,
Making a run for the sun.
Who will rejoice for yesterdays child?
What is the game to be won?
Will you draw?
Will you fold?
Will you start playing wild?
What is the future for yesterdays child?
Will you turn to dust,
Or go to the sea, racing with destiny?
Oh,look at me,
Born to be yesterdays child.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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“I remember…Justice”
“Struggles of women! ” rang in my ears as a child
“Poor justice! ” rang in my ears as a child
“Equality for us! ” rang in my ears as a child
What’s the point of screaming out loud?
I kept thinking in that moment as a child.
As marching with Nepal’s flag and holding index finger of my uncle,
I saw people in blue dress, green dress, and devil face without justice.
I saw people with sad face, gloomy face, and red face that didn’t had justice.
With my squeaky voice I said, ” Uncle, why are people so loud and hate man in blue and green dress? ”
He turned around and with polite voice he said, “Because that’s the people who does not give us justice”
“Struggles of women! ” screamed women next to us,
followed by, “Poor justice! ” by massive group of citizens.
I kept wondering, people need to stop chanting in my ear.
‘PEEOWW PEEOWW'
I saw women lying in concrete floor,
I remember, that thick red blood floating to my uncles toe.
He grabbed me so tight by hand, I thought hands were sore.
At age seven, this was too much to digest
Still till this day, I question
Is there justice anymore?
poem by Rimbus Shrestha
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Life Erupting...
i walk the hymn of life erupting,
the urine prayers, the sweat, the pus.
the gutteral cry of need evolving,
the phlegm of god, the bodies rotting.
the snow wiped faces
and the naked earth.
in constant rhythm with hunger's howl,
the candle flame, the silenced tongue.
the whisper shake, of shadows wanting,
nails, blocks, and colored glass.
the crippled dance,
and the distant drums.
who am i? i am you!
the second son of an unknown father.
born in an alley neath a starless sky,
my feet stink of human,
my eyes lit with desire...
talk to me when words are done!
the wet birthed babe,
the hot blood of giving.
the life caved in,
the searh for nipple.
the whiskey breath,
the cigarette memory,
the love torn chest,
the beak plucked heart.
the identity of the unknown soldier
who died in the ashes, unheard, unseen.
the hands that built with determined faith,
with common trust and common hope...
the weeping beneath the silence,
the silence beyond the grave....
talk to me when words are done!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Mother
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is conceived nine months in the womb
the child that is cradled at daytime,
night time until dawn?
How can a mother forget her child?
How can a mother forget her child
the child who after the flow of months
has learned to stand and run?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child whose mouth imitates her mother`s tongue,
the child who after a year or two can say,
'Mama, I love you'?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is so dear in her own heart and mind,
the child that reveals the mystery of creation,
the beauty of growth and human interaction.
the infinity of our own universe
within its finite linear time?
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Burns, And Burns, And Burns....
the poet burns, and burns, and burns...
warm your feet, cook your meal,
read by this light...
tell the ones you love
that you love them...
here where shadows cannot destroy...
take the bread of this body,
and feed just one of the hungry...
take these eyes, let humanity see justice.
take these feet, and walk the path.
take these hands and build a home.
take this heart, and love your neighbor...
take these wings, fly free at last!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Mother and her Dead Child
Looking back
it seemed
the child
was not to be
always there,
not through lack
of love or care,
but something
that came to her
in dreams of dread
at night asleep in bed.
She tries to retake
in dreams
the child back,
to pretend
that through
wishful thinking
she can make up
the lack.
Arms fold
into cradle
as once they had
when child lay
in arm's hold,
snuggled
and warm,
alive and moving,
seeking out with
eyes and fingers
her mother's dug.
Rock-abye-baby
no more,
the arms
and hands
redundant,
the last time
she recalls
the dead child
in arms,
rocking
back and forth,
as if this might cure
and bring back
to life,
might stir open
eyes, jog open
lips and mouth
to suck.
Not to be
just the memory,
ill luck.
poem by Terry Collett
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Mother, I May Have Been A Naughty Child
Mother, I may have been a naughty child,
But I am your child nevertheless!
You own the world, mother, you are the queen of the world,
And look at me, I go about in the habit of a beggar.
You are bent on neglecting me,
But I love you anyway, it is you, only you that I call upon.
Just as a child runs to his mother even after she has scolded him,
So do I run to you.
How could you push me away from you, mother,
You are my mother, are you not?
Oh, why did you cast me away, mother,
Leave me to play in the dust?
I would have been a better child,
Had only you been a little more kind to me.
I am sad and angry, mother,
I shall go away anywhere my eyes and my feet take me to.
I do not care now whether i live or die now, mother,
I am going away.
poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
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I Am.... (Namaste)
i heard your soul whimper
from across the miles,
in the dead of night,
when you thought no one cared.
i saw the light in your eyes,
when you fed the hungry child,
and brushed the dirt from his face
with hands that trembled.
i felt the tears,
that you couldnt cry...
as you buried your only son,
killed in their wars.
i smelled the fear in your body,
but tasted the grit and determination,
as they beat you to the street
for protesting their greed.
i shook with the cold lonliness
of your tiny cell,
where they left you
with no identity or hope...
your freedom taken
for standing up for freedom,
your human rights taken
for defending human rights.
i am the song,
and the hymn of you.
i bathe in your light,
i drink your darkness.
i taste the colors of your skin,
and they all taste the same.
i feel your fears,
your desires, and your dreams.
i am the farmer, the mill worker,
i stand in your factory lines.
i am the activist, the doubter,
the good and the evil.
i feel the blows you've taken,
i can name your scars.
i've slept with your failures,
and buried your mistakes.
i am the love of your hidden names,
i walk by your sides,
know your steps and your sweat.
i am the good things you've done,
and yes, even the bad!
i am the triumph, and i am the loss.
i am the breath of god,
that fills your bodies....
you are the flesh and bones
and the feet of my dreams!
i am the sacred, the magnificent,
the simple, and the mundane...
all living within
every moment you live!
i am the song,
and the hymn of you.
i am the work
that only you can do.
i am the dance, the drive,
the passion, and the chance...
you are the words
that only god can express!
namaste!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Child smiles
Only in a world of freedom,
Can a child unfold and bloom.
Only with the sun piercing right through the dark hut,
Can a child see the wonderful sights of this world.
Only in an ocean of unprejudiced love,
Can a child speak to its heart's content.
Only through the eyes of soft empathy,
Can a child see its true reflection.
Only in surroundings of unadulterated society,
Can a child open its mind wholesomely and dream.
Only when applauded at its tiniest achievement,
Can a child come to know its hidden potential.
Only in lanes without propagation of caste,
Can a child recognize its own identity.
Only in the cradle of happiness,
Can a child fantasize and create.
Only in vicinity of the learned,
Can a child imbibe the essentials of life.
Only in the pages of medieval history,
Can a child understand its ancestors better.
Only in unpolluted waters of the Ganges,
Can a child splash its hands and wholeheartedly swim.
Only without discrimination of gender and status,
Can a child flourish to achieve its goal.
Only in the gentle hands of its mother,
Can a child shield its eyes and sob.
And Only in an atmosphere of complete equality,
Can a child stimulate his urge for learning, prosper
and SMILE.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Beauty of a Mother
The beauty of a woman starts
When her womb begins to grow
The child that she'll give birth
Soon will call her, “my mother”
The beauty of a mother reigns
When her arms cradle her child
And her charm shines within
Her heart full of love and care
The beauty of mother un-fades
When her hands guide her child
In all places walking side by side
To protect her child from danger
The beauty of a mother is her brain
To teach her child to read and write
To let the child know the difference
Of what is wrong and what is right
The beauty of a mother is her act
To treat her child without compare
To list none of whatsoever is best
For her child is the gem of her life
Then the beauty of mother reflects
From the eyes of her child in return
To respect, love, and care for her
When age and time set them apart
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Love with
Mother is
Child god...
Mother love
Child...
Child also love
Mother...
Love is
Hear body with
Mind...
With feed
With kiss...
With touch...
With feel...
with love...
Love with...
Hands and catch...
Catch and hands...
With love and
Love with...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Hands.... (That Dared To Speak!)
the hands....
that cleaned the old man
lying on urine stained sheets,
that planted the bulbs
in the old woman's flower bed.
that washed the dishes
for forty years....
the hands...
that built the old barn,
that plowed the fields,
that harvested the crops....
the hands...
that stroked desire's body,
that found each secret treasure,
that closed the window.
that held the baby,
that taught the child to write,
that buttoned his suit
on the day he was married.
the hands....
that buried the body,
that brushed leaves from the grave,
that packed away pictures.
the hands....
that picked up the pen,
that turned bloodstained pages,
that dared to speak!
the hands...
now old and withered,
painfully bruised,
often clasped in prayer,
that open to take the small child's hand;
that unlock the door,
and beckon to those in need...
the hands...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hunger in Botany Bay
Hunger lurks down the streets of Botany Bay;
The lonely child famished and peckish cries for food
None notices the child, for they’re preoccupied with the travesty of justice in Botany Bay
An observant vagabond pays heed to the child, and shares the lone piece of bread
The child ecstatic with what’s it got, runs to its hovel
The hovel where it was raised, is full of abjection and misery
The child runs to its mother, gives the lone piece of bread
The mother in tears, tears up the piece of bread
Gives a piece to the child to satiate its hunger
Keeps the other piece for the other slumbering child
For such is the love of the mother, careless about her own hunger
Gets lost in the agony of doubt, of how she will raise her children
In this world full of misery and pain.
poem by Deepak Hiremath
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