“I have not written in 5 days. A lot has happened. Helping kids. Trayvon Martin. Watching Father of Lights. And now, as my 4 R’s: Rest, Restore, Resist, Repeat… I give you: “Dear Daddy…”
I write this as a monument to myself.
As if I could organize my thoughts
from the endless expanse which
is the mind you so generously gifted me with.
A little twisted,
With a touch of dark.
A quick slap of reality,
to enforce my prolonged habit
of being the one who could handle all that.
Maybe if I could look back and see
that the little girl in me
trying to be tough and fighting her own battles
has still been stuck in that 4-year-old’s body.
God, can you hear me?
When I whisper dark thoughts and dirty stories
based on historic fiction not good enough
for a movie but perhaps a few SVU episodes maybe.
I claim to have b r o k e n shackles that society put
on me, my father, my Ammachi,
the Patel Brothers down the street.
But then I see the degraded beggar f l i n g i n g
filth at the structured society,
and plead to the invisible status quo:
“Please don’t let him touch me.”
Why not bring it back “home”?
Where the normalcy is engraved,
in tainted blood mixed with European ethnocentrism.”
Click here to read the rest of Princy’s poem. Featured on InterVarsity Urban Project page, you don’t want to miss out on this amazing piece!