In White suit, he sat, at the dermal clinic
Beside a, White man with ,’skin cancer’
“Sir! I am the ailing one, you don’t look sick”
“Nigger! My mind is ill, your soul is a slur”

He gaped at, his White suit, and his Black hide
Then glared, with revulsion, at White man’s face
“You are the, White stigma, on the, Black ethos’ pride”
“Huh! Same deadbeat debate, of a defeatist race!”

“Why a, Black man is, what a, White man thinks
Still reconciling, lost, thousand years
With a dead ethos, which stinks, and stinks…
You can’t, blame past, for your, present’s fears!”

The nurse called out “Come Mr. White, for the skin transplant”
The White man, burlesqued, Black man’s chagrin
“You are, the soul, of your racial rant!”
Flaunting, self-pitied skin, is The Black Man’s Sin!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra