Kara for my color, so they said
My progenitors, cut, hurt, slain
Now you preach that I turn color-blind?
Even in black and white, the two are always discrete.
Veni vidi vici. Shakespearean, superficial, racial
Cracked the whip, no balance with the shoulder to cry on
Yet they’d have sworn numero uno was the latter.
Ahamaru runs through every inch of my being,
The price paid for the cause,
Flowed in rivulets to spell passion even though
the enemy was the scribe, signed yours truly.
White: peace, love, unity. The little ones swallow, no impugning it.
Never to fathom it’s only pieces of greed and cruelty.
The cure’s subliminal uplift. The onus is on us entirely.
Ahadharu. The cause. So pause, contemplate
Suppose, to your face, I told you of the grace they brought
Only to be trampled on by fools who grass never sought
Would I be wrong to free the mind off this unbound prison?
Emancipate yourself from mental slavery; none can free the mind but yourself.
Robert Nesta’s words, my impetus, what to thineself?
Revive their spirits, then off my flag, I’ll pride myself.
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