Dear Malcolm,

 

In some parts of the world,

Light shines brighter than in others,

Shade-divided world.

 

Under bright light,

Doors opening,

Under darkness,

Obstacles haunting.

 

Chains that persist intangibly,

In printed words,

Spoken words,

The stories we choose to voice,

History we’ve chosen to hear,

The other we’ve neglected.

 

Shaded identity.

Tone,

That dictates politics.

Random pigment,

Which fragments the crucifix.  

Color,

Sculpted by fabricated morals.

Light,

That the canon eye sheds on mortals,

Confining ones to ghettos,

Others to isles.   

 

Isles of privilege,

Freedom,

Advantage.

 

Apathetic isles,

Concerned,

Discriminatory isles,

Inclusive,

Whatever-you-want-to-call-them isles.

 

Shaded islands of separation,

Sculpted by a history,

Without which color is meaningless.