I scream for the integration of words, words that can seize me from sweeping through this folklore of poverty
I walk gently but never tall to abscond the thought of pride in them and name my price before they change their mind.
I am not jealous of you!
I just need what's mine and what is mine is the victory that you have given yourself and claim the trophy.
My colour is supposed to be axis of wealth and the field of will
With the mind of negative gravity they called me a cast
A cast of misery, a cast of misfortune and a cast of hate
They compare me with the night as if I have created.
I sometimes agree with them because at the end of this, I am their God
The compare me with the night as if I am the One who has created it.

Never challenged, yet they used my present for any use or test possible for their survival
Why, why, oh why did you do this to me?
I wanted to be a historian and they wanted me to choose between a lawyer or a politician
Knowing that a historian of this colour might as well be a poison to their society
Why do I have this huge hate in me?
Does anybody know?
They have never asked my forefathers their resume, they only gave them jobs
Jobs with no manual to follow,
They have never requested a friendship but only master's ship was created.
I wish that they were there to listen; I wish that they didn't live their grand children to hear my suffering, to hear my plea, a plea to resume and ask for my resume.
All they did was to live; I guess you are soldiers too.