When I born, I Black,
When I grow up, I Black,
When I go in Sun, I Black,
When I scared, I Black,
When I sick, I Black,
And when I die, I still black..
And you White fella,
When you born, you Pink,
When you grow up, you White,
When you go in Sun, you Red,
When you cold, you Blue,
When you scared, you Yellow,
When you sick, you Green,
And when you die, you Gray..
And you calling me Colored ??
-written by an African kid.........
I came across this poem in my mail and felt like posting it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Mr Nag -- nin bage mathanadthidya ella african kida??
ReplyDeleteA poem can be percieved in different ways by different people,
ReplyDeleteAlso the same person might might percieve it differently under different circumstance.....so ...
That kid could be me or you...with the 'colour' being a euphemism for something /anything else that you can or anyone can think of....that is the beauty of poetry!
sume ondu comment pass made adake yake estu ella lecture...:(
ReplyDeleteNot a lecture...i am just trying to think like a poet :D
ReplyDeleteMany years back I read such type of poems. They are very true and original (in their context). My father used to bring Hindi translated versions of those poems. Keep posting such type of posts!
ReplyDelete