The Black Child Poem by Wenne Madyt Dengs

You're in an inexpressible situation
Your names are nothing but a curse
You're the unluckiest child of all races
With deep distress mind destitute
You're born with bow in your hand

Your body is infested with live maladies
You're resistant to modern drugs
You are either a male or female human;
Who is wild-blooded
You feed on wild food;
At your childish stage
You're neither a monkey nor man

You genre must be generally doomed
Whitish slogan is resources
That you inherit from your forefathers
Those races without origin
Those races without ancestry belongings
Wanted to debut your race

Blessed with lame tongue
That can't vibrate for breathing reality
The tongue that vibrates for self interest
To eat and ease is what your mental cares
Leaving the pressing neighboring colonization