Georgia Black Youth

“Elegy for Sonya Massey: Cry for Help, But Death Arrives” When the bullet sings, the name of Sonya Massey lingers, echoes sharp, a mother's love now tangled in the trigger’s fingers. Dialing for help, her voice a beacon, a plea, but the sirens that came carried no salvation, only tragedy. The sky wore mourning, the stars blinked disbelief, for who can fathom a call for aid turned requiem, brief. Sonya, a queen whose crown was crafted from grace, fell to the ground, where justice found no place. Her children’s cries weave through the night like haunted refrains, motherless now, their laughter echoes pain. In every heartbeat, a question lingers, raw: how does protection become a breaking law? Her spirit roams the alleys, the echoes of her cries, painting murals of grief on the canvas of the skies. Their dreams now shattered, like glass on pavement strewn, each shard a testament to a mother gone too soon. The badge, once a symbol, now a specter in the mist, turned sanctuary into a sepulcher, mercy missed. For Sonya called on angels but was met with night’s wrath, her lifeline severed by the shadow's stealthy path. In the wake of her departure, a family fractured, lost, the cost of calling for aid, a mother’s life the cost. Their home now a silent witness to the absent grace, her laughter but an echo in an empty, haunted space. We stitch her name into the fabric of our rage, a tapestry of sorrow bound in history’s page. For Sonya Massey, a name, a life, a plea, stands as a testament to the pain of being free. When will the night relive its sin, the dawn reclaim its truth? How many more must fall before justice finds its proof? Sonya's legacy, a question etched in sorrow's name: how do we call for help when help and harm are same? ©️MustafaSantiagoAli #Poetry #Sayhername #SonyaMassey More here: youtube.com/live/xb1M3LFS0Cg…