The death of the young

Jamaica Gleaner - - ARTS&EDUCATION - – Sac­cheen Po­etic Laing

I put on my uni­form Armed with books I set out in search of a good ed­u­ca­tion.

Streets lined with the blood­stains of those who fell on the way

I’m de­ter­mined to live to see an­other day

But I have no con­trol over those who be­lieve they can have their own way. Armed with guns and knives They at­tack me, They as­sault me, They abuse me, Be­cause they be­lieve they have con­trol over me Be­cause of guns and knives in hand. In my hands I write my plans A singer, an ac­tor, a doc­tor, a fash­ion de­signer or a po­lice man

I clench my fist as my blood runs to join those who fell be­fore My plans re­main in my hands Never to be re­alised I am young but that means noth­ing on this land.

The blood of the young will re­place the ocean that sur­rounds and beau­ti­fies the land

How many more shall die be­fore you an­swer when I ask why?

My mother shall cry and bury her son be­fore he be­comes a man

My brother shall cry and say good­bye to his role model

My father shall cry and say good­bye to the son he wanted to ed­u­cate and nur­ture

My sis­ter shall cry and say good­bye to the brother who would pro­tect and love her

My blood flows and you stop to record it

My blood flows and you walk over it My blood flows and you for­get it A girl mur­dered, never to be­come a wo­man A boy mur­dered, never to be­come a man Who will be the next gen­er­a­tion? When the young are be­ing mur­dered

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