, I looked in the distance my eyes wide shut and just like a movie streaming, I saw a young Nelson Mandela in his solitude looking through the bars of his cell and felt what he felt for just a moment “alone” yet convicted to the cause, in a slow motion I watched the dust rise and his body fall and I walked over to him in my mind I knelt down and kissed Malcolm good bye, as I light my cigarette I watch the smoke rise as the plane crashed toward the earth a sense of panic and peace as I waved goodbye at Samara Michel trying to make sense of it, that the father doesn’t call you home unless your jobs done, the tears wanted to flow like blood from Martins wounds as he struggled to breathe and for a moment , I laid down to dream just to see his vision , and to get away from the madness I place my cold hands over my face I find myself examine how on one side they are one colour and on the other another and the laugh of madness and a trade mark single tear asked Mr God the same question I asked last time, and that we as a people have being asking for years, “how can this skin you gave me , be the source of such hatred I thought we were all equal in your eye’s … truth and lies ?”. I looked at the back of my hands again and all of a sudden, a nine-inch mail burst through my palms, “Jesus?”
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