O, how I long to see the sky
It’s blue in my memories,
But I’d believe it was green, if you leaders told me to.
Reaching for the blindfold, one may cast it asunder
But just as quickly as you let your guard down,
They’ll hoist your white flag up
I cannot loathe what I do not understand
Though I do my best to scream these words from every rooftop,
My throat produces little more than a meek whisper,
The few words that escape are plastered over
With the pale propaganda of the past
Can my allies even hear what I say?
Time is collecting on the skylight of yet another prisoner,
I’ll do my best to dust this oppression off my mind,
So long as you keep up your end of the deal.
I understand that somewhere, someone died for me;
Their blood is the ink for my pen
But who are you to restrict that bloody ink?
Doesn’t my birthplace guarantee that I may wield it as I please?
It is a sad day when I envy the migratory birds,
Their southbound beauty severing all ties to the ground,
While I sit solemnly below,
Counting passively their free feathers
So come down from your podium of promises and protection!
I admire your attention to this special case,
But you’re beginning to protect me from myself.
I have my life [if one can call it that],
But no understanding of liberty;
And where is this happiness of which you speak?
I understand full well what our father’s father’s father’s father wrote and co-signed,
I am not the blissfully ignorant being you would have me be.
The naïve twinkle has long since matured from my eyes,
Leaving only jaded pupils beneath lackadaisical eyelids
So quench my thirst, bind my wounds
It may be in your best interest to keep me sedated, but it’s not in mine.
If you truly intend to work by, with, and for me,
Open your ears to our cries, but close not our minds to theirs
I respect you deeply for having my back,
But such leverage isn’t intended to also bind my hands.