The Indigenous Enigma

John Gregory Evans

Native dust of flesh and bone where the blood of the humanity factor is red as red as if all are cloned.

Why, an African man once saved my life…a gesture of humanity offered only through the kindness of his heart.

His fight was not with me but with authority.

I cling here upon the cusp of love and hate. Yet, there remained no animosity between he and I as I continued to wait.

From my heart to his, and from his heart to mine, we were as equals as equals find.

He was a soldier for his tribe. I was a soldier for mine. And, love prevailed without the flash suppressor’s rage and vehement call.

Color is a box of crayons, only if we could see without the adversity.

Upon reaching out I found a friend, but through trusting him not to fire his weapon I discovered a truth…

Within the midst of a battle between the gun, truth was dressed as a man in blue-jeans and a ragged old shirt. Yes, his skin was black, and mine was white, and I cannot recall the color of his bandanna he waved against my fright.

The enigmatic portion of this story is he set me free, without the alliance from a killing spree with authority.

I will always remember this stranger friend of mine, recalled in time, with verse and rhyme.

And now I know, black is red, and red is white, where all stand together for an equality right.

Straight from the heart we call each other friend and lose the aversion until the Supreme end.

For black is red, and red is white, and we all stand together for an equality right.

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