#equity
#humanrights
#respect

In America, there grows the sun,
Very luminous and bright.
But when the clock strikes at noon,
He emitted a prevalent pride;
Then the Indians became his bride.

His rays are rangy at noon.
Then out from that wrathful sun,
Came out the ember in between --
Noon and dusk. Then out from that ember --
A charcoal are born and then --
There lives are considered not a matter, starting that day

They were thrown away with dust --
Or wiped out by a delicate, yet deceptive --
Feather duster to clean the edges of America.
As if smoke, they are puffed from the chimney.
Their lives doesn't matter, during that day.

But some charcoals really did glow;
And ignited a fire to light the others.
But the bold water cools them --
Splashed into their heads and now
Still today, their lives doesn't matter.

Anyway, they are just some charcoal;
That runs your ship and warms your home.
And after the day is done; like dust you are --
-- Put aside -- or blown by snobbish wind of the society --
When the charcoal are worn and burned to ash.

But some distant voices -- far away --
-- Grilling or doing barbecue --
Calls for the necessity of charcoal.
And they lit the charcoal in the griller
Then said, "Charcoal's life does matter".

With that at least, its hope is ignited;
For some reason to fight for its existence.
But when will it last? When the ember spark --
Would devour its hope slowly to ashes.

The charcoal only dreamed, while standing amidst ashore --
-- tormented by those pitiless waves.
Someday, they will be as hard as sea corals and limestones;
But the road is not sure where it is going.
© Anonymous Pseudonym