Each person on this planet
is born with eyes
whether they can see or not
they are a gift
to observe the wonders of the world
or to endure through the darkness
We all are born on Earth
Every single baby
enjoys the benefits
or suffers through the hardness
of the land
Even if a child born today is blind and unseeing
even if this child has skin
as black as the night sky
this child
is a gift
and should be treated as one
We all are different
but
we are all the same
One race
the one and only
Human race
*This poem was written for a Social Studies project called Do Something I decided to write this poem about race, I would love to hear your comments...
This truly is a very profound poem! As I read it several times, it made me reflect on the literature that we have been reading in my French courses this year. First and foremost, it brought to my our African poet, René Philombe's poem, << L'homme qui te ressemble>> (The man who resembles you). In this poem, the poet is knocking on someone's door. The person behind the door asks him what nationality he is, what is the color of his skin, what is his religious persuasion , which country is he from, etc. The poet responds by saying that he doesn't have a skin color, nor a religion, nor a creed, nor a country, nor a race, etc. He says that he is a man like the person behind the door, a person just like he. This beautiful poem also reminds me of The Little Prince. The little prince states a profound mystery in saying that what we see with our eyes is not as important to what we see with out heart. What really matters is invisible. We see a person through the heart. The heart is an invisible part of our body, but a very vital organ. We are to value others through our heart. We're not to judge by outer appearances. We're to look deeply into the soul of a person. The writer of this poem truly captivated these sentiments.I just finished a course in February entitled Race and Ethnicity. I wish that I had this poem a few months ago as I would have sent it to the prof. This deserves and A++.
ReplyDeleteYour poem works well for me. Open my eyes to see others and see myself in them. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteVery eloquently done!
ReplyDeleteI really love the first stanza about the eyes that are a gift whether they can see or not. Blind people 'see' through different eyes!
ReplyDeleteYour poem reminds me of another one that always struck a cord with my students... sorry for the long comment, but wanted to include it here
The Cold Within
(James Patrick Kinney)
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In black and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire
She noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.