Kalayah J.
Kalayah Johnson
blue, 2020
blue
Oh Lord, my Soul is blue.
Like the waters of the deep, It is blue.
Like the scent of fog and rain, It is blue.
Like the pentatonic cadence of my ancestors’ grief.
My soul, it cries out for relief-
It is blue.
Just like the bruises on my fists,
Black and blue.
Like the love that warmed my heart,
It’s gone blue.
Like an ocean full of salt and tears
Old and wasted fears
That wash over my eyes. It is clear, Lord.
My Soul is blue.
Like exalted uniforms,
They are blue.
The sirens’ redundant song
It’s minor blues.
Like the mourning of minorities
Misunderstood by men without color,
Like the mourning of our God
As we fight amongst each other.
Instead of linking arms with out brother-
Sister-
Mother-
Father-
Our people wouldn’t bother
To link arms with one another
As we fought amongst each other.
And so Lord? My Soul…is blue.
I can’t take anymore, my lips.
They’re turning blue.
As the oxygen leaves my skin.
It turns blue.
My lungs are gasping for air,
But your people don’t hear me, and
You know it’s true.
They have no fear of the future.
Yet with despair they are filled
As they sit on their potential
As their people are killed.
And as these handcuffs bind my spirit,
Nothing can compare.
To the blue that’s tinged my vision.
But your people don’t care.
You know they don’t hear me
And with hatred my heart is filled,
As my people are killed
And my voice loses power.
To the bone I am chilled
By the hatred in my heart,
That tears me limb by limb-
That tears me apart and.
Fills the blue in my soul with red.
Like the blood of my People,
It is red…that I see
As the blue and red elope
I should be filled with royalty
But as these pigments of violet,
Cloud my vision, stain my hands
My heart is strained,
My legs refuse to stand
For my people that have sacrificed
So much for this soul
My legs refuse to stand
For my people that were bold
In their conviction-
Despite being sold like creatures
They strove through the affliction
Of “perfected” facial features
And of the whitewashed depiction
That painted them as worthless
And so? Lord? My soul.
It’s blue.
Swollen with depression
And I rue the very day we were shaken
To our very core and force fed
This accursed oppression.
Please Lord, let this blue pale and lift,
Let the sun pierce this morning mist and
Let the warmth bring peace to this
Mourning heart.
Let this blue pale and lift,
Let the sun pierce this morning mist and
Bring peace to this mourning heart.
Let the warmth pale and lift.
Let the sun mourn this pierced heart.
Let this blue bring peace.