Stranger Fruit
Ghetto trees bear stranger
fruit.
Flowers die quickly from
death to their roots.
Poison was fed to these young
plants at birth
They’re wanting flourish but
are dying of thirst
And hunger for knowledge as
to how they should grow
‘Cause the gardeners tending
them truly don’t know.
Now those tending at times
are nowhere to be found.
Or they’re casting their seed
into unprepared ground.
Instead of love making ready
the soil,
The process became a
laborious toil.
These unknowledgeable gardeners
take no time with their plants.
True growth? Doesn’t stand a chance.
Plants need their gardeners
in order to thrive.
How else is the next
generation going to survive?
But survive they do in this
tumultuous world
And their vibrant colours all
tend to swirl
Creating a color that’s
dismal at best.
The little plant is weary and
it just wants rest.
But there’s no rest for the
weary and this little plant’s tired.
It knows it will grow and has
great desire
To be something wonderful but
not knowing how,
Its lot is a litter garden – (k)no(w) progress, (k)no(w) how.
the SpontaNubian
© 2003
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