I am the man whom you fear,

invisible face in a crowd that shudders as if a ghost were stirring,
cast down from a state of grace,
continually stomped on like weathered shag carpeting caught out in the rain,

I am the man whom you fear that wakes unto filthy streets, the last hold out of the refuse,
relegated to low status after emancipation like walking through a round about in a department store leading to hell,

I am the man whom u fear, huddled on the side of a cliff holding a white woman in my clutches, the consummate villain,

I am the man whom u fear, who’s various attempts to outrun his position are met with violent ends,

of subtle subtext ,
how they squirm alone with me in a room,

I am the man whom u fear that needs to scream in response to questions to be heard,
seen while not being ignored,

I am the man whom you see reflected in the ancient mirror,

such hatred abounds around the seams,

why should it be?

when you are he and he is you,

both climbing down the double helix as if it were a bean stalk caught in time,

in unison they peer into their shared history, an Africa still in flux,

entranced by such sites in reaching their destiny,

They break bread under the baobab tree