13 Brothers (A Colonial Digest)

Back in the day there was a boy, hardly a man,

Struggling, going, and proving his worth

Hair askew, clothes poorly chosen, with a laborers’ tan

He used to find pity but now there’s a dearth

Of people willing to see his worth.


This boy grew and grew and fought against his father too

And what was he supposed to do

When all his father did was screw him over and over again

Out of every promise, every dream, every call, every opportunity?

So he stuck his stuff in a bag and went to a land far far away.


He had 12 brothers with him and they lived in constant fear

Nothing but a ramshackle, put-together, shack keeping them out and clear

So the boy, hardly a man, with his hair askew and his laborers’ tan

Went out in the field, went to the factory and worked and he worked

Till’ his father released his grip on the 13 boy clan


But just then, one of the brothers wanted more and more

He knocked on the shack of the brother next door

And the two of them were willing to implore the other 11 waiting.

They made a pact, a secret, an article of will

An agreement worth nothing more than a historian’s thrill until

The brothers, decided to make their agreement a declaration.


But these brothers, they were not the coven they thought they were


They invited more and more people, of different race, of different creed

Yet the brothers were nothing like they claimed to be

And as they ruled the continent supremely as one being ought to be

They forgot the citizens that had the same dream as he

As they boy, hardly a man, his hair askew and a laborers’ tan.

Now his tan is gone, with bleached white skin shining through

He doesn’t even know the colors of his own true flag

But what is he supposed to do

When his prejudices, his racism, his true colors have gone through the gamut

Tested, tried, and true.


The people in his sovereign cry out “Dearest one you know not what you do!”

Yet he hears them as uncouth

As ungrateful

As untrue.

The women cry for justice, minorities for peace

The boy, hardly a man, just wants them all to cease.

Yet the voices are crying louder, more and more adding on within

But he thinks the nukes, the walls, the guns, the silence will shield all of his sins


There will be a day of reckoning, the boy will have to face

Even a big, strong superpower cannot forever shield its face

When day after day, it hurts the ones that have shown nothing but love

And leaves the people helpless like forsaken turtledoves.

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world


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