Amongst the vast sea,
we provide contrast
in the most undesirable manner.

We are called people of colour.
We are sweet-toothed tamarinds bathed in irresistible pink salt.
We are sugared in unsolicited opposition
as cloying torment is supplied in packaged goods
to cover up the fact that
we are the minority.

Beloved home travelling on the distant compass
and we remain where familiarity is alienated and family is sparse
glittered around this lacklustre territory.
So called dreams has shifted into battleground
of elusive peace and foreign sympathy.

A knife.
A sharp, quick blow on arrival.
To sever the arm of identity
is the only weapon of survival

On the frontlines of population,
we are pushed around like debris.
Watching from afar
As fortresses of solidarity
construct conceited communities,
propelling us further into oblivion,
disintegrating as time flees.
In truth, it is all too simple,
yet, they are blind to their own complexes of superiority.

We are called people of colour.
We bestow chromaticity on barren walls.
We harvest pride from rice fields
with incomparable pride,
Iin customary elegance,
and ineffable diligence.
We don’t do it like anyone else.

Possessing beauty from superficiality.
Replenishing natural vitality into this destroyed land
in hopes of redefining normality
to transcend brilliance into future generations.

We cast iridescence onto a faded photograph,
being the only thing that will stay.
And this hue
is dignity they can never take away

Amongst the vast sea,
we provide contrast
in the most scintillating manner