You can’t separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has his freedom.
-Malcolm X (May 19, 1925 – February 21, 1965)
Like bees scenting the myrrh and frankincense
Of his flesh, bullets congregate around him;
Blood honeys at the exit wounds in his heart.
Smoke – the nepenthe of his own sweet death – staggers him;
He falls, becoming a garden of perfume.
The faithful swathe him in ivory muslin,
but his flesh goes further, straining into starlight.
-George Elliot Clarke
(Lush Dreams, Blue Exile)