Arts and CultureFull Access
RUN
Published Online:11 Jun 2021https://doi.org/10.1176/appi.ajp-rj.2021.160409
It started with a quiet but fierce opposition
As they shackled and chained their bronzed ankles and wrists
A defiant people marched steadily into the sea
A desperate fight for their dignity
I hear the clanking of chains as black feet touched the land
Skin glistening like gold in the sun that bathed them
I cried when I saw that skin break apart
As each lash rained blood, like currency, unto this land
They ran off the fields in search of freedom
As bullets pierced skin, mid-stride like deer
So they sunk their efforts into the cold ground
And ran hundreds of miles despite the crippling fear
I saw their children run like them
With reckless abandon they marched and sang
With crowns of curls and bloodied feet
They sang those songs with a pain that still haunts me
But three hundred years go by, I look around and see
How time has weathered that defiant fleet
The suffering remains
The songs are the same
The pain I know better than my own name
Another hundred pass, and still the herd grows thinner
On a land that brands black saints as sinners
They put them in cages
They put them in graves
They orphan their children
They hunt them in waves
America, your promises are endless
Your original sin, we cannot forget
A mother who favors one child over the other
Are you surprised then, when your black child will not relent?
Your children are running, searching for you
A mother whose love they never knew
They keep running despite the growing thirst
But now I'm running for my life too
With shortened breath, I feel I must stop
If only to rest, or perhaps give up
I turn around resigned to halt
But faint echoes of black kings reverberate: "I can't breathe"
How quickly echoes morph into screams
As I hear the wailing of their black queens
To my young brother—I see you, I know you, I know your name
To my young sister—I feel you, I AM you, I know this pain
We keep running what looks to be a lonely race
Our feet grow tired but we keep this pace
Because when we grow weary and yearn to quit
We hear the thundering of our ancestor's feet
One day our children will read about
This race we ran, four centuries in time
But the tears they'll shed when they read each line
Won't be from pain, but from peace of mind
So, Run
Despite the tears that wet our cheeks
Because our fallen brothers and sisters must never know defeat
