My People
He whispered something to me yesterday
He said that "my kind" was something he wouldn’t even want to step on
His arms crossed, shielding his mind
From any reasoning or association with my kind
His face wiped clean of any scars,
Yet each of his words, one by one, being drafted off to war
His words like a million arrows tearing at my perforated heart
But how I longed to tell him
If way back when in the old,
When all they cared about was
Glory, God, and Gold
Did my people ever lose hope?
Under your foreign subjugation
You watered the revolutionary seeds for my nation
For us to fight for our freedom
My people are a legion of hopefuls
The young village girl who wakes up
Crusty-eyed, not to the alarm of her clock, but the cluck of her chickens
She races the sunrise along the dirt paths to school
It’s ONLY 10 miles!
Her feet blistered with dignity and education
All to build a future for her nation
Her bright future was her own creation.
In the country,
My people relentlessly clear the fields
and sow the seeds
and water the crops-
-with the sweat dripping from our noses-
and reap our own harvests.
With Apollo scorching the back of our necks
My kind was ripened by the sun.
In the city,
Where my people erupt buildings of steel
Whose skyrise peaks tickle the heavens
but root themselves deep in a culture of determination
We are not bugs you can shrug off
My classmate whispered something to me today
He said my kind was something he wouldn’t want to step on
So I knelt down low,
My eyes locked with his,
And with a heavy whisper,
I said,
“Damn right, you don’t want to step on my kind.”