Man of Colour

A generation that grew to see, The battle handed them, Atrocities the metropoles did, Submerged in their existence, Their dreams sold as they were discovered, Self-doubt staining their minds, Enjoyed nature, Same nature watched them being nurtured, Nurtured with chains and whips, Having no whims and caprices, Their history bacame a luxury, The pale saw a wrong with the black, Above that, he saw the economy, Now lost for centuries, With the foundation being injustice, What he was still haunts, I am a man of colour, My blood isn't colourless, Neither is my skin, Though that of my soul, I do not know, Certainly, my conscience is battered like a faded jean, Fitted for a plow, Yet with the beauty and radiance of a lawn.