Throughout Time
Throughout time
I think of what’s mine
My skin, for what has meaning
And a story full of remorse
A period of freedom fighting
Beating “frees”
And a devastating course
A collaboration of cultures
Which my ignorance can’t know
My chapters filled
From an unknown blood flow
A perfected past?
That lies in my future
Of a new view of life
To create my perfect world
Of characters full of blithe
To my honorable ancestry,
Do I have to owe a depressed nation?
Or does my generation,
Feed the hate with prejudice beyond explaination
Throughout time
I think of what’s mine
My hair, for what is thought
To be of the ***** tillage
Is a collaboration of worlds
From opposite sides of the village
A mixture of knowledge,
May form my belief
The soft and coarse strands,
That bring much grief
Although my sensitivity is taught
By my parents sincere cares
Can my judgmental attitude
Be inherited by my forebears?
The only way to know,
Is to listen to the few
i cant reject these thoughts
this undeniable truth
Throughout time
I think of what’s mine
My tone, for what is mocked
And individuals try to change
My sophisticated conversation
And my mature thinking range
But can I really blame one side,
From example I’ve learned
Throughout, my small time
A normal life I’ve yearned
Am I privileged from my token mother?
Or my father’s “mother land?”
Back then, If seen
Where would I stand?
To have my thoughts neglected
I’d starve for expression
For the racism and discrimination
Conveys great depression
No matter my history
To the back I’d be seated
This skin, my flesh
a presentation defeated
Copyright © Kaima Akarue | Year Posted 2006
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