I was born, brown-skinned and a black-eyed girl,
Into a blue-eyed spot in this world –
Blessed with black, thick and rather frizzy hair
Where hair tends to be silky, smooth, mostly blond.
When I was a girl, maybe twelve years old,
I would lay my head down, on the ironing board
Because a real iron could tame my real hair…
Benefits seemed great… Risks? I didn’t care.
Sometimes, I would hurt my neck
While trying to look more like my peers…
My silky, smooth hair would cover the scars,
But couldn’t heal wounds inflicted upon my ears.
Finally, my strands lost all strength and shine.
Hurt, brittle and broken, they told me the truth:
Silky and smooth was not to be mine –
What was, however, was a gift… divine.
Some say, I cannot relate to the black woman’s plight.
I’m not brown enough – they say, again and again…
And yet, in the white crowd, my skin’s far from light.
No blue sockets in my eyes, no blue blood in my vein.
Some say I’m neither, but I share both bloodlines
So, I take the liberty to claim Angelou’s lines
“Out of the hats of history’s shame, I rise”
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain, I rise…”
There are decent and wicked people, in every place.
As Shakespeare well said, many years ago,
“There’s no art to tell the mind’s construction in the face”.
This line could apply to the subject of race…
There’s more that connects than divides us, you see?
I won’t get offended if you disagree…
But, do look beyond the cover, listen to my words –
We live in a world made of many worlds…
I live in a world made of many worlds…
Even more come alive in the depths of my mind
I pray that this world, made of many worlds,
Becomes one in the One who is colour-blind.
Besides, I’m the world that lives within me…
Letter by letter and word by word –
HOW I look at things determines what is…
My own world gets recreated, every day, by me.
I’m no longer looking for my place in this world…
His sweet spot within me is what I’m striving for.
In the midst of it all, still, I have to believe…
That right now and after… will surpass before.