Brown Around

Citizen of the world I claim to be,
yet I choose to follow a certain click,
be that it may that I speak different,
yet the love for a similar leaves me uncertain,
my roots have been bleached,
neither white nor black,
but a common paint,

the bucket of brown now seems desolate,
for every stroke leaves me feeling out of place,
the click I've never accepted,
surrounds me like a vineyard,
among the "grapes" of likeness I scream nonsense,
for my "culture" and my "people" remain buried,
the soil beneath and above the ground portrays my past,
the color brown leaves me feeling tasteless.

(11800075)   Copyright © 08/01/05 Ronil Tataria