Prisoner of War

By Monsour Owolabi

this poem is part of the “100 Stories” Archive with Stony Brook University to be published 6 November 2024

I’m in a tomb for the living, locked in a box.

My clothes are all white except my gray socks.

It’s 95° or so I hear; it’s 120° plus inside here.

Cruel but usual to say the least,

I’m only a number, not a man,

So I’m treated like a beast.

I want to send this message to the streets–

To young homies on the front lines bust’n the heat,

To my little sister half-dressed, working the streets,

Open ya eyes — ya peep.

The pigs on our corners are trying to creep and put us all to sleep.

I hope you hear my voice from afar.

Heed this warning from a Prisoner of WAR.

The war on crime, the war on drugs, are wars on US.

What I mean by US?

Lumpen-proletariat, look these words up!

Socialism, capitalism – you need to know the difference.

We want freedom, we want Power; that’s our mission.

Free all KKKaptives; I’m talking prison abolition.

Did I mention the set up?

The conspiracy to lock us all up–

Shackled, isolated, deranged and chained.

This is the reality of the criminal a.k.a. the new slave.

Am I telling you to behave?

I’m not telling you to behave.

Instead, no, redirect your rage.

Adjust your vision and join the mission.

Class society is a society of Prisons inside of Prisons–

Those caged and those without.

There’s much injustice in the imperial world.

I could go on forever and I’ll still be here.

I’m sentenced to forever, so, as you read this, I’ll still be here.

I’m incapable of redemption or transformation, or so I hear.

If you ever come here, you’ll see me in my all white gear,

Buried alive in the tomb for the living.

I want to see my fatherless children.

Locked in a box, all white except my gray socks,

Envisioning a world without locks — I’ll set my keys afar.

I never thought I would be a Prisoner of War.

In the USA is there such a thing?

They haven’t heard millions of KKKaptives scream.

Listen to millions of poor KKKaptives scream.

This is a message to the streets.

Where I sleep, there is no Peace.

Prison is daily sorrow, bloodshed and fear–

Prisoners of War fighting for our lives in here.

All Power to the People!

[Author’s note: The above poem is dedicated to all POWs in occupied Turtle Island, USA]