poetry web

In utter disgust still cursing
The times wretched for neglect
These people in anguish cried
For help from all quarters
Even calling adversaries to show
Kindness however little they could
In situations of human woes.

In great shame for humanity
In great misery they lie mired
In more neglect their times still passing
In more help from all they meet desiring
In more distress their lives go rolling
In every advance to kiss bitter retreats
In humility to dare the forces thus preparing.

What they want from us they know still
We never in good mood promise them any good
To calm their flames of anger of dishonoured rights
To make them in love laugh ringing bells of union great.

We are natives of a land that none of us owns. Yet this world offers
no place; none except the outskirts, where the abominations of our
kind are left undisturbed.

Privilege is as rare as desert rain. The pigment of our skin is darker
than fair. We are unlettered. We are voiceless. We have nothing but
bones and dust on our plates.

We are made obscure– mere footnotes and appendices. Our shapes and
faces not as inspiring to paint. We are unclean. We have addictions
and demons to conquer from within.

We are silenced for we see the world with nonconforming eyes. We take
the road less traveled; the unpopular choices, we make. We are
deviants, simply too different to embrace.

We: You and I. I am each one of you.

You are outcasts in this realm but not in mine. No one speaks of your
death but your lives, honoured in every word I write. Your home is
this soul, our existence, intertwined.

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