Free yet bound
I am a crumpled paper thrown out the window
A scraped off paint from the bedside table
I am a rotten flower in a distant meadow
I’m one of those tagged with a scornful label.
Our bowed heads and frowning faces
Are painted with black stripes and white spaces
And scanned through under the red light, appointing prices
The totality of our beings is caught in vices.
We are the oppressed, the underestimated kind
They call us savages and keep us behind
They feed our minds with invisible rights
To desperately avoid a revolt to rise.
But we won’t let them spill the ink without a fight
We’re not just going to wait and sit back tight
For we are the core and the very source
Of the strongest gathering of a collective force.