Wale Ayinla | When We Cross the Ocean, We are Warned to Leave Our Skin Behind | Poets Resist

Poets Resist
Edited by Sage
February 28, 2019

Wale Ayinla

When We Cross the Ocean, We are Warned to Leave Our Skin Behind

hey Nigga! I heard you are about to wear colonialism all over again, / but I have a fear that the foreign land might swallow you this time, / and send your body back home as a mail, / because, here, / every blxck man is a warning message, / or a letter bomb. / you might think of crying wolf whenever a white man calls you Nigga, / don’t do that, / the gun doesn’t pay attention to any colour different from white. / when it points, your blood will only cry vengeance through the news, / like Abel’s. / here, your skin colour attracts a gun, / and some eyes, and police, / and more eyes. such a chemistry, / that even your street can be an open grave. / your body can be a full moon in the blankness of the sky, / or a planet circling the galaxies to fit in. / what no one will tell you is that you must always look a white man in the eye. / through it, you sieve the soul, / and save a soul from vacating the flesh. here, your first friend is a cop. he waves you to stop, and asks for your papers, as if there is no other way to bond than looking for how to put you on an airplane back home. once, in America, a blxck boy’s body became a bonfire. to be blxck is to be a victim of violence; or an evidence of neglect; or an enemy of the States. once in America, blxck is offensive. & when you think of crossing the ocean, remember the stars on your body, standing still & thinking of which way your skin will tread back home.