I’m sorry. But I am sad and I must speak.
Everyday, the same story it repeats
The freedom to be oneself,
To express onself as one wishes,
To love onself in a world that doesn’t love you back,
All those things I must fight for everyday.
I smile. But I am sad.
This isn’t natural, this isn’t right.
Why should I be fighting for such things?
Why should I be robbed of so much?
Why must my children go through the same abuse? The same violence! The same shame?
For what? They never chose to be born black.
Like me, they are the fruit of their parents’ love.
Dropped in a field of hate, they’ll never escape. Unless…
Unless we fight. fight. fight. And fight.
And over the bodies of our brothers and sisters, someday,
We will have built the tallest tree. And at last, we will be able to rest.
Issa A. Dioume 