by the waters
of the Pacific
i sat down and
weptas i remembered the hundreds
of immigrants cheated
and let down by a culture of bigotry
on the weeping
willows
i hung up my
violinand my cymbals refusing
to sing the songs of plenty and freedom
in valleys of the
Rockies
and in spacious
prairies my Caucasianhosts wanted me to sing
some songs of joy
but, how shall
i sing
the song of
joy and freedomin a land where the colour of your skin
matters the most
if i forget my
rights let my right hand
wither and if i
forget my honour let my tongue cleave to the roof
of my mouth
if i do not
remember your discrimination
or, if i do
not set my rights above my joylet me perish in this alien land
blessed is
that one who takes up the cause
of colured
immigrants and does not dashtheir hope on the rock of prejudice
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