Culture, Narratives, Sunday poem

Poem: Cosmic Echoes by Poetzee

When I was young, I found myself running

Running from the shade that plagues my skin

If I ran hard enough the plague would fade

Find another to infect, dissect

When I was young

When I was a little older, I found myself arguing

Arguing with the many who pigeon holed me

You are White, you are Black, you think you are all

of that

Am I White?, Am I Black?

When I was a little older

When I was old enough to know not to listen

To the self-obsessed, war hungry masses

All that is gold does not glisten

I returned the book on how to fit in

And started to read culture

When I was old enough

Here now I stand up tall, unable to fall

My culture is my weapon, my tool

I feel ashamed to have fought it a plague

Ashamed of the tears I gave to the many

For the sickness, I felt in my belly

A cosmic echo spoke to me one day

It had come to say

Look inside the place you hide

And you will find a cosmic mind

An echo of light about to take flight

Be stronger than the weary, the frightened and the


I realised this echo was from my ancestors

I was grateful

To be me


© Poetzee

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