I sing for the people | Teen Ink

I sing for the people

November 23, 2009
By nightbabe SILVER, Wayne, New Jersey
nightbabe SILVER, Wayne, New Jersey
9 articles 0 photos 1 comment

I can tell you I see a great deal. I see the man that gets up at the crack of dawn when the streets are bare and cold. Yet, these roads still have a peaceful tone to them as this man drives onto a highway and joins others heading to a long day of work. Perhaps a school bus drives by with children barely aware of where they are in the world. They sleep only to shortly arrive at another day of school. When the day is nearly over, the children and the workers are still awake preparing for another day of work and school. It is a cycle almost as automatic as the beautiful sunset every sweet evening, when the moon appears and dances across the still, night sky.

I can celebrate those in their brand new cars and those who travel on foot. While some travel in a fancy car to work everyday, there are those on foot traveling to a brown, cardboard cubicle smaller than in an office. I see the wrinkles on an old man’s face as he sits on a lonely street corner. Hundreds of people pass by with their heads up so high they have no chance of seeing him on the ground. Every gentle wrinkle tells a story of his life. With a piece of bread in his hand, he smiles. I see him celebrate something I wish to celebrate, what you celebrate. He is alive.

I can travel down a familiar road with an innumerable amount of very diverse people. The people make this road unfamiliar and an adventure. Each person has his/her own destination. Each came from a different place. Together, we are one. I am the black woman pushing a stroller. I am the Asian man on his way to work. I am the little girl with blonde girls that runs on this road only for the sake of running. I am the old man taking his time to notice each passing face as he walks along this thrilling road. I know the girl’s innocence and the old man’s wisdom. I have the pride of the woman in leather boots and a designer coat, the weight of her earrings barely keeping her head on. My pride comes from this road, from each person as one. I know them. I am each and every one of them.

I sing for the people. I speak for them all. When there is conflict, I can become conflicted. I extol them by glorifying myself. Their dreams are my dreams. I know them well, sometimes better than they know themselves. I can walk through a city and see each person for what he/she is- American. This is America. I can happily say that we are all Americans and this is America.

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