On my death bed, when my legs and limbs are weak
When my throat is too narrow to swallow bolus of meal
When I struggle to catch breath in my mouth, and the sound of my shallow heart beat fills the room
On that bed that looks like my passage to the grave and draws me closer to my ancestors
...
I tried to picture what the best movie in the world would look like
I said to myself, it needs the best location
Another voice in my head also said the best director has to be in charge
The movie needs to have a very large cast
...
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white.
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav'd of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree
And sitting down before the heat of day.
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
... Read complete poem
