Born dusky and rustic, thoroughly not planned,
Yet faced disdain and orphaned at many places,
Now at twenty, I look back in helplessness
To wade through my dark years of remembrance
Not only with heavy heart but with teary eyes too.

Born dusky and rustic, truly not my fate,
Still my friends teased me, ' black raven'
Touched me with their finger tips, sardonically
To write in their notebooks, yelling,
And telling that their pens ran out of ink.
Sarcastic and mocking were their roaring laughters.

Born dusky and rustic, obviously it was in God's plans
But my kith and kin kept me at bay, Even cast me as a bad omen, at times.
Felt cloyed, cried, depressed, and even frowned Happily.
Darkness and the tears became my companions,
Questioning God, ' Why the hell, you created me?'

Born dusky and rustic, purely it isn't my fault,
Yet my college friends proclaimed it so.
Like everyone, I too had love hormones in me
Fiddling the guitar, kindling in me, I fell in love,
But was turned down by my love
Only my odd colour being the cited reason.

Born dusky and rustic, how am I responsible?
When you step into Africa, lest you could see Whites.
Whitish or wheatish, pinkish or darkish one might be.
It has nothing to do with inner quality
For everybody is given the same - a Red heart.
Never disrespect for tone, since melanin is the accused.

Thank You
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