I’m a small constituent,
Of this colossal land,
Yet when I see people walking,
Barefoot on white sand
It’s not their presence that unnerves,
But the absence of the human element,
It’s not the colour that discerns one another, I say,
But the thought that makes the dent
I chose not whether I be white,
Or blonde, or dark, or coloured; like they say,
It’s where I belong to, that shows on me
It’s something I want to be proud of, not guilty!
You come to my soil, and fancy the beauty,
Yet you question my being on your terrain,
I want to befriend you, like my own brother,
Yet, from being normal to me, you refrain!
I chose not my mother, nor my motherland,
Nor my parent’s colour, wealth or status,
Yet I’m proud of my country, my fellow men,
And of all I am, with a renewed impetus.