Blood Turns Red

This poem begins with a tragic tale,

Of a little black boy and a garden sale;

Even though little he was and smaller his pride,

His friend circle just wasn't that wide.

None treated him like he too was human,

John, Jacob, and even Sarah Newman,

Though black was his skin, his blood ran red

For every one of those tears, he shed.

Oh, why oh why did they be so cruel

Knowing he had to come home to gruel?

You see, poor and dismal was his state,

His health was declining at a rapid rate.

2 months later, came the boy's funeral,

Yet the attendance wasn't numeral;

The grief he had faced and the challenges that came,

Left absolutely no soul to maim.

But learn from the boy, and from his sorrow,

And help me shape a better tomorrow;

Let this claim no more lives, for it has to,

I beg and I plead, for it to matter to you.

By Aarya Chaudhary