The University of Chicago’s Independent Student Newspaper since 1892

Chicago Maroon

The University of Chicago’s Independent Student Newspaper since 1892

Chicago Maroon

The University of Chicago’s Independent Student Newspaper since 1892

Chicago Maroon

Aaron Bros Sidebar

The Daressy

After “The Anniad” by Gwendolyn Brooks
Jeremie Theobal

Pushed through the bitter winter

Left in the dark grey of day

Watch the higher god’s cinder

And the lower god’s sunrays

Exposed to the bone marrow

Listening to wind’s whimper

Ponder lack of holy gaze

Ponder lack of nourishment

’Neath nights of Chicago black

Overhead an onyx dish

Glittering lights of aeroplanes

Silhouettes the old man’s cane

His body holds a worn slack

Tours to the state of Iraq

Recompense he must enact

A burden of being dark

Muscles which were once strung taut

It’s pain his body was taught

On long roads his mind embarks

Solutions are inexact

What lay in store for this ole cat

Oh muse, please give me the sight

To tell Dareus’s tale

Soft rain turns to hellish hail

Pitter patter behind him

The employer to his right 

“Cut off your favorite limb

And just maybe we will bite”

severed his left hand

And returned to him promptly

Soil becomes arid sand

And he’s rejected softly

Anger furnishing the room

Like frost over the lakefront

January afternoon

To the liquor store he goes 

Snuffing out his mental woes

Contemplating his next move

In the old Golden Shovel

And a jazzing tune which soothes

Creating a mind out of gravel

Organized of the disheveled

And conviction comes quickly

Shifting like a moccasin 

Dareus lays in waiting

For the man, salivating

Just outside his homely den

With war-like mentality

And jar of flammable gin

When Helios reaches midday

Its in flames the house is doused

An infernus overlay

Overtaking neighborhoods

From highways to lakefront bays

Baptizing the city’s sin

In new light Chicago’s razed

And they look for one to blame

Evading imprisonment

He runs to his Olympus

Finding shelter in gods’ hands

Protected with veil of shame

Mice smell an aura of pride

Putrid pear, from the inside

Skin sinking into the night

Makes a dramatic return

In the broadest of daylights

Swarm of butterflies come home

From our neighbors to the south

Kaleidoscope on the dome

To the hearth from where they roam

Numbered streets they finely comb

But he keeps to the shadow

Makes the invisible home

Overlooking the lake foam

Turbulent currents to sweep

Canals from rivers to seas

In lit up basements he sleeps

High off gallant revelry

Carried on sweet melody

His words flood the urban-scape

Preaches corners on milk crates

This winter ‘gining to reel

Revolutionary voices

Ideas bound to charm and kill

Oh the heat is surely felt

From LA to New York and

All her sparkling cities

It becomes a dangerous pelt

From Atlanta to Houston

Burning all her sister lands

Raised as if were preacher’s hands

Riots become reprimand

Disobedience simmers

Watching, Dareus snickers

Enjoying intrepid dance

Piercing skin like Latin lance

Messiannical wicker

Dismantles seats of power

Cowering behind outrage 

Cleansed in blood, fire, and white sage

Ash-coated after the rain

Americana, heathens

A world filled with the insane

He tells of lack of treatment

For the leg which had gone lame

And following addiction

Affliction for lack of pain

Child jumps after balloon burst

Letting its contents spill out

And it could not get any worse

State’s body laying about

He is victorious now

A divine reformation

Beckons foreign sensation

The White House is no longer

The Capitol is in ruin

Boisterously the people cheer

Institutions lay somber

“Democracy” left to prune

La-dub, blood pulses in his ear

The moment stills to silence

Hard to hear wind as it splits

Worlds exist within seconds

Dead body on broken stilts

Future fervor unknown

Momentarily atones

Death begets rebirth in Spring

What song of revolution

Does our Dareus now sing

Vibrating absolution

Heavenly inspired verse

The worldly onlookers scream

Waves of sound shaking the hearse

Revolutionary sleep

Hibernation runs soul deep 

He’s forced to final rest

They love which they once detest

Cold like the sun never rose

The world continues to mull

In now warm soil, poplar grows

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Comments (3)

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  • T

    Tammy M White / Feb 14, 2024 at 12:02 pm

    Awesome job Nephew

  • A

    April White / Feb 14, 2024 at 10:29 am

    Beautifully written!

  • D

    Darrell White / Feb 14, 2024 at 10:13 am

    Great work!