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.
Copyright © Samuel Choji Pam | Year Posted 2015
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