Why, why, why?
By Annisa Afrah
We live in a highly
complex community and in this area we have been hit with the
sorrows of street violence. Due to this, many have lost those who
are dear to them.
Whether it be a brother, a son, a boyfriend or just simply a friend.
When we strip
this problem of its state of affairs one question jumps to mind.
Why? Why would anyone
want to take anotherís life? When they still have theirs.
Why would they fill
the need to kill another black brother?
An endless question
like why only leads to stray answers.
So why do we let
others create this mythical One out of many?
Every day a life is
taken away, so many tears have fallen because of this pain.
Blood shed from the
youngest of the young. Bullet holes allow blood to fill their lungs.
Pain and suffering
filled my brain.
Can someone tell me
why a mother has to bury her
young black child, who could have been the next leader of this
What makes this
community so different? That one can only pray for the best, For
When a person has the
guts to kill another human being and rest their head on a pillow at
night, then expects to dream. The question is not why. But what we
can do to make a change.
Does the problem begin
with the fact that most of these young males do not
have fathers to look up to? Are all the absent fathers to blame for
this anger that
has built up in our young males minds?
Shutting their hearts
to love or they have been kicked out of school again and the rap
they seem to spit have
been engraved into their hearts, trapping them leaving them no way
Questions only deepen
the depression. Anger is not in the mistakes made, But in the
has stolen many mouths. They feel deathís breath, breathing on their
What if they worked so
hard to never make it. What I talked non-violence and some kid
empties the clip, leaving me forever in silence. Itís the code of
silence thatís known in the hood.
Do you dare to say a
word? Living life like thieves at night. Unknowing that silence only
them slaves to the
streets. This community now devoid of light, happiness and common
Sometimes I think this
happiness can only be reclaimed but never reconstituted.
We all canít go back
home again, only fix this new home. We all need to open our eyes;
sometimes the truth
hurts more than a lie. So bring back peace and give me a reason to
which I have deprived
from the moment this community lost the definition of peace.