Late one cold October night
I sat in my bed and thought
"What am I?"
This question actually caught me by surprise because..
I had no real answer
Sure I know WHO I am.
I am me.
My hair, the way I walk and talk.
That is all a part of who I am.
Yet what am I?
Where are my ancestors from?
What culture do I belong to?
Did my great great uncle pick cotten
from the great fields of Alabama?
Was my great great great grandma an African Queen
from some great civilization decades ago?
Did my ancestors live among the Caribbean Islands harvesting sugar cane
from the grand West Indies?
Or were they Spaniards that traveled the oceans "discovering" new lands?
Maybe they were the natives of "America"
Who were taken over by the pale face demons?
Will I ever know
The birthplace to where my roots were sowed?
Maybe I will never learn of the land that my ancestors walked
I may never know their
struggles and successes
Never know what made them
laugh or cry
Never know whether they danced to the beat of drums
Or sang of the5r sorrows.
Never know if they were kings and queens
or daring explorers.
So then will I ever find out
The answer to my simple
Yet complex question.
What am I?
I am this. I am that.
I am left. I am right.
I am dark. I am light.
I am black. I am not.
What will I tell my children
when they ask
"What are we?"
What am I to say to my curious seeds?
Am I merely to say the dreaded 3 words
"I don't know"
Or the common escape answer
"We're black"
No! That is not enough for me.
So will I ? Oh will I ever know?
Where my roots began to grow!
I pray to God that they were not sown
in the fields of the unknown
Because then ""What am I?'
Is answered simply by
"I will never know."