May I speak to the lady of the house?
You? Impossível! Is she in?
But you’re muisto escura,
Com o cabelo ruim

You speak such good English
Where did you school?
But uko niku komboni
That surely can’t be true

We come from kwas, shanties and favelas
Our choices are trim, our chances even slimmer
You can ask us, we know
You’re the ones that made it so

You give us a ladder
And remove the first dozen rungs
Then you watch from your towers
As agony tears out our lungs

We’re good for your entertainment
So long as it’s gold, you’ll pay the clown
But when the fete is over, when the games are done
You barely bat an eyelid, as we consciously drown

That girl is so pretty
Do you know her name?
What? She’s from the shanty?
Oh never mind…oh what a shame

What is it about us that makes us less human
You whisper, you talk, you shame us with ease
Like a trend, you model our culture
And in the end, you shun us like a disease

We come from kwas, shanties and favelas
We’re as many as the eye refuses to see
But one day, we will not be invisible
One day, we will be.

-Chiseche

 

 

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