A shapeless hapless black dot
As black as a painted devil
Though the devil himself so evil
Is not as dark black as he’s painted.
Is it the only black dot in the pot?
The black ants within the dot
Move so sluggish like dull maggots
Without any proper direction or precaution.
They beg and beg from other dots afar
Beg technologies, machineries and white paint
Their mind and blood too black to invent
And white paint won’t change their blackness.
White ants within the white dots
Make the whole pot sparkling clean, so sheen
Their mind and blood painted white and right
They have huge heads to invent and innovate.
Will the black dot outshine the white dots one day?
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Comments about this poem (Black Dot by Lauwo George )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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