Are the foundation of
The tree of life.
They keep me grounded
But they’re buried
Deep, deep down.
Below the surface
Of courteous smiles and excessive politeness,
Behind the facade
Of code switching and perceived ‘whiteness’,
Between the lines
Of inaccurate history books about the lifeless
Peeks through a vibrant array of patriotic petals.
In full bloom they tear through the dirt
Through the mud
And the crap
And the lies
And the hurt
And they dazzle passers by.
My roots are curly
My roots are coiled
My roots are vibrant
But my roots are soiled
By misconceptions and ignorance
That persist without my control.
Politicians fear to calculate the cost
Of what it takes to be accepted,
And how it feels to be rejected.
The new generation
Are the gardeners of revolution.
Plant the seeds
And reap the fruits of change.
So when We chew
We ask if you’re with us,
When you take your first bit you’ll think
Isn’t change delicious?