African in America

I used to believe
In the American Dream.
Like the pursuit of happiness
And all it could mean

Now I believe
In nothing at all
I had been set up
To take a great fall

I did not know that
What I once believed
Was just one man's
Version of my history

I was not told while
Growing up as a child
Whites thought we Africans
Were uncivil and wild

But what was an African?
That meant nothing to me
I was an American
And said so proudly

But I did not recall
How once way back when
I had lived in a nation
That was ruled by my kin.

Nor could I see
How a foreign country
Had once really been
My land of the free.

Africa was proud of her
Black queens and kings
And once we had our own
Native songs we could sing.

I was made a base slave
By a will not my own
And taken by Europeans
Away from my home.

I thought my being born
In the land of the free
Was a blessing of sorts
And a great boon to me.

I had been in bliss before
Finding out on my own
That I was an American
For one reason alone:

None of my teachers
Had ever told me
That I'd still be in Africa
If not for slavery.

The life that I lived
And what I once knew
Was now lost to me
And no longer true.

Now I had to question
My entire existence
In order to determine
The depth of my ignorance.

The language I speak
I now realized to be
That of my captors
And foreign to me.

What I once thought of
As my history
I can now only say
Had been imposed upon me.

The American Dream
And all it could be
Was not truly freedom
But mind slavery.

Nothing I own.
Not my land or keys.
It all belongs to them.
Even my liberties.

One third of my life
They spent training me
In their education system
For their work industry.

All I've been given
And everything I've received
Was organized precisely
To take advantage of me.

Now seeing a new world
Lacking rose colored sight,
I savor no joy.
My hope is in flight.

I lament! I lament!
I can see! Now I see...
My FREEDOM! My freedom...
Was taken from me.

I rebel! I rebel!
Albeit meekly.
To whom do I turn?
I've no home country.

In this land with her people
My residence is just legal.
And because I am black
My wages are slack.

Because of my hue
I must work longer too.
For my blackness of skin
I'm a 'hyphen' -American.

America's favor
Prosperity and wealth,
Shines on her leaders
And not on myself.

Even my name has
Been given to me.
I was not 'African'
Originally.

Now I take stock
Of all I have lost.
But there is no mention
Of a black holocaust.

No sorrow for black Africans
From ships dumped into seas.
Or true record of black men
Lynched in the South's trees.

As if the rape of black women
Left them inviolate
And breeding slave children
Was cause to celebrate.

No care for the millions
Of African lives that were lost.
The European colonists
were unconcerned with that cost.

The English Monarchy
At the head of all this,
Seeking more wealth
Invaded our continent.

Now the Americans
With their civil history
Have distanced themselves
From British atrocity.

Speaking of Apartheid:
'We do not agree.'
When colored segregation
Is their own legacy.

The United States and
Great Britain, apparently
Believe they are separate
And not one entity-

That their common brutality-
Distanced by time-
Is a thing of the past,
Was never a crime

And as rulers of this world
Are exempt of guilt plea.
But as an African In America
I will never be free.