Alumni Spotlight: Sabreen
In recognition of International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination and World Poetry Day. We are sharing a powerful poem from Legacy International alum, Sabreen. Sabreen is a Global Youth Village Alum from 2012 – 2013 and was a TechGirls staff member from 2014-2016
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Hands up, don’t shoot!
and he was not one of mine
the color of my skin and
the bruise around my eye
was a different shade of hatred than the bullet in this guy.
but the pain in his mother’s face would be the same in mine’s
on my mother’s
or my father’s
or my sister’s or my brother’s
they pointed towards our heads and we stared straight down the barrel
they threw insults and disgraces but couldn’t meet our faces
fists raised high in peaceful rage
avoiding our gaze
too many days…
he didn’t have to die
what did he do and why do you hate?
severing the unification of this crumbling state.
he was only twenty-one with a scholarship and hope
and a trigger took him down in place of a hooded cloak.
he was only twenty-one
mother burying her son who died in her arms like a run-over fox
we are locked in a system
twisted
and what of the Salt March, the protests, the strikes?
not with batons or fists
why indict those who stand
and this system that we preach
are we supposed to believe that this democracy is a system that’s for him as much as it’s for me?
because this institution normalizes racism and hate
and a young man died at twenty-one with an pre-written fate.
we’re all to blame, blood stains our hands though we raise them up
we’ve left a broken family in the wake of this — disrupt…
Hands up, don’t shoot!
and they glare at us in fear
and those wreaths are too expensive to be placed on another casket
for a life that’s not worth enough to save
how do they dare
now put a price tag on a life they were indifferent to spare?
face down he bled out in the middle of the day
‘cause he was “belligerent” and would take too much time to save
Hands up, don’t shoot!
but they already did and the chain around his neck had belonged to his friend
who had died at his own hands
shooting up
shooting down…
too many shots fired
lift our fists higher, our voices will rise
no compromise
another one dies
this could’ve been our shot, but we missed it
he’s now a statistic
and the greed and the fear and the mongering hate
spread out on a plate of more empty deals
laws are made to fail
we’ve seen it before, they can’t throw us in jail
there are too many now…
there was a Martin that preached and a Martin that walked
both were brought to their deaths by a bullet that talked
far louder than the coward that stood behind the trigger
we are bigger in this nation than
this mental segregation
and he was only twenty-one…
and he was only seventeen…
and he was only in his forties and a grandfather of three
and he was twelve in a playground planning out his life
taken down by a uniform that didn’t think twice
no hesitation
extermination…
Hands up, don’t shoot!
they are, we stand
arms locked together, woman and man
segregation, delineation, resignation — where’s the change?
burnt out faces, palms sweat — shaking — hearts beat shallow in their cage
resist defeat and drums sound heavy
from the soul of this city
from the heart of this town
overcome we shall do
(it’s been promised before) and these
sinister gunshots are the knock on the door
take a stance, band together
clean the graves that are covered
with the rubble from this struggle that’s gone on too long
body count — count the numbers
