My dear son,

My hope, and dreams.
Look at you –
Tall and handsome
Naïve and smart
Stoic yet lithe
Ready to face the world and hard truths
I wish upon you – thy soul remains unbroken

None of these would matter
These alone will not spare you
They won’t see you as I do
To them, you can only be one thing
Notions built over the centuries
They wish upon you nothing but failure

You are a budding flower
Soon to bloom in all its beauty
Drawn to the sky
Flower yes, but not of right ilk
In their parlance, you are just a weed
They wish upon you nothing but extermination

They will treat you with suspicion
Guilty by association
Won’t confer you a second chance
You are not an individual,
Just another item from a mold
What constitution, what rights?
They wish upon your abject submission

Your hands are not made to create
work of art, literature, music, science …..
Not Michelangelo, DaVinci, Bach, Einstein
Your hands can only hold guns
to commit deadly crimes
They wish upon you a life in a slammer

Yes, my son
They are here to “protect and serve”
Nothing is what it seems in the world
Especially, in the world we live in
They serve them, and,
presumably, protect them from us
They wish upon us to not forget this “truth”

They demand utmost respect
when none has been earned
My advice, grudgingly dispensed
Show deference, to see another day
Be nice, stay calm despite provocation
One wrong move as they perceive it
Will end up being a siren song
And finally, their wish would have come true.

Your proud papa.