Echoes of Blindness

I grew up blind The kind that fades away with the gaping eye of knowledge word on the tip of every patriotic tongue was independence Little did my shut brain know, sham was a better word for it The physicality was removed, that is certain But ideas and creeds are still sung, venerating them It’s as if our souls were trained for the job-faultlessly Yet freedom is cried out from the fantasy of the beholder How could it be that they quantify us unchained? When the model of sophistication and elegance embellished Fall in the wondrous sculpture molded of anything but our culture Language is deemed "uncouth,” evermore forgotten as ancestral splendor Colonialism ended to let on a superior beneficial exploitation What better shrewdness than one concocted in plain sight? We’ve seen their pockets outgrow them with our gold, our dignity While we’re outran by their wars, and still, we grow old-blind