Black Boy Review

Both a Powerful and Compassionate Poetry for the World at this Time by Henry Justus


Photo by @ikennaogbenta

Her elite nicknamed her.
“Crown virus”, they called her,
And crown she became.
Sweeping down that
Beautiful city of Venice,
Leaving death at her wake.
Trails of anguish, a dreaded
Visitor she is.

The ol’ merchants of Venice,
Now buy caskets in gold,
Gold stored up after years of toiling,
Gold to bury their hearse.
Swords purchased in one’s gold,
How we were slaughtered by
Chattels we bought!

The ol’ city of romance,
Love, splendour and sex,
Now a graveyard for lovers.
A feeling like you’re invading a masterpiece when you come to Venice
Queen of the Adriatic, City of Water,
City of Masks, City of Bridges,
The Floating City and City of Canals
Rubbished by a beast from Asia.
Not the Arabian hoardes.

Not even the Asian Spear could
Crush her shield, but now brought
to her kneels by an unseen enemy.
A prophecy long fortold, mayhaps!

Alas! I hear songs of hope,
Sang from corridors, balcony
By lovers torn apart by this ‘crown’
As they longed for each other’s touch
From a distance, masked faces.
Smells of ethanol, hands whitened
From incessant sanitizer.

Only if the soul can be sanitized first.
Like the myth of Romeo & Juliet,
their innocence is purer than your sacrament.

Songs that strengthens dead bones,
Bones tired of fighting this ‘crown’.
In the midst of this turbulence,
Some cast off their God, some seek
renewal of soul for rapture’s sake.
Not for salvation or total ablution
From decadence and immorals.
But to be raptured like the culprit,
hanging beside the Son.
We are humans, the great Deity
gave us this kingdom to own.

The great Holocaust came and left,
Black pox left millions dead yet
Earth isn’t want of mortals.
The great depressions left many
Dangling from a tree as they wrote
Their last will, we mourned and buried
The dead, this too shall pass.
The King will come when true love
Becomes the cheapest commodity.

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