Came good old hunting days, back in Dallas
Though foxes, coyotes, no more the game
Yea! Blood! Buckets full, of black fellas
Spills over, white bloodhounds’, treasured shame

It ain’t the meat, but the prized black skins
In white living rooms, shout silent screams
To reassert, white skins’ pride’s wins
Dance naked phantoms, gape inept regimes

Soar swaggering inheritors, of Ku Klux Klan
Resurrect the black age, of vicious white reign
Every black a marked man, and white, a henchman
Alas! Five decades of ethnic trust, lost in vain!

Yet lingers on, the travesty, called “American Dream”
And on black man’s soul, white vanity’s lunching
That lost white clout, for a race to redeem
Brazen it out, white scouts, on Black Blood Hunting!

© 2016 Vikas Chandra