8 May 2012
Oh why can't I be you! Well-bellied, youthful skin and sewn to measure shoe.
I wear your cloths of old, never to brush against your suits made from gold.
Skin rough as leather, I carry your load of abundance, in this cruel and treacherous weather.
A land my people have never known, this is where I lie, where I have grown.
Shackles bind me to my cage, not to fly too far, for I fear your rage.
We are your cattle, you tame with whips, striking it through our cloth of rips.
Under the sweltering heat, I feel blackened by your colour, that I cannot defeat.
Someday our pardon will be heard, then my people, can be free as a bird.
~By MICHAELA. X
Land Of Hope • Opuss № I