To the white man who is racist, but still serves God and kill black people. - Paul Chuks

I don't know who it is

you fall your knees to,

fling your hands in the air

and pound your larynx

for words of supplication

but i can guess who it is:

I know he is palefaced like you

and he weighs five times the size

of three obessed people and barely

has a neck.

His mouth is hidden inside

the long shaggy mane of hair

grown around his chin.

I bet your God keeps a hockey hairstyle,

and wears a short-armed shirt with

a picture of series of skulls at the front

and a white man, shooting at an armada

of black people at the back.

I bet his last words in his bible were:

thou shalt stone to death with the bullet

of thy guns whoever is not of thy descent

& the law shall guide you.

I bet your God suffers delirium tremens

and the only hallucinations that films

in his head are gory scenes of black men

with their blood splattered on the floor

and their heads littered all over.

I know he told you the colour of

your skin was the colour of the ink used in

writing the constitution & so, your skin

is the symbol of authority.

Tell your God to visit a clinic.

Paul Chuks is a Nigerian poet, writer and song writer studying philosophy at the University of Benin, Edo state, Nigeria. He recently appeared on Kalahari review and is waiting for his other publications. When Chuks is not reading or writing(songs), he spends time criticising the hiphop game or he's mimicking Michael Jackson.