WHY POINT AT ME SO?

WHY POINT AT ME SO?

Why point at me so?
Why do you poke me as though I am
a worm and no man?
Is my failing not nature’s defect?
You point at me with one finger but others
turn to you with equal accusing prick.
That my mouth smells and cooks spittle,
is not your nose a running tap inviting flies to drink?

My legs are thin but they help me stand.
My head suffer lakpalakpa but does my
brain leak like the fisherman’s basket?
My color is black but is my blood black?
Is nature not a mother-cheat on me as it is on you?
And is one cheating more than the other?
Cheating is cheating. There is no holy cheating
So why point at me so?

You say I am too tall and without sense
but you call me to remove cobwebs from
the gliding skies of your room but you cannot.
You are a book wizard and live on wild books
Knowing all knowledge like Zeus
But you ask me to paddle you through the waters.
You ask me to get you on my back so you don’t sink
Book whiz kid! Do your books not teach you swimming?
Your books make you more a kid than a king.

Why point at me so?
Is it not better we carry each other on our backs?
Are backs meant for sleeping and not for carrying?
Is patience not more a nurse and a healing balm?
are the bricks for our broken fence not in our own hands?
If I am not weak can you know you are strong?
Then, why point at me so?



IKHIANOSIME, Frankl