I thought myself lucky,
To have lived in a time,
Where being yourself,
Was not seen as a crime.
But as I look about,
I see this isn't right,
There's always someone,
Trying to start a fight.
Because of whom one loves,
Or the tone of one's skin,
I thought we had grown,
From our ancestral kin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem