Haunted by dreams of memories
From those who despise my blackened hands,
As if nightskin were a disease.
I have been cursed by those from other lands
With lighter skins and haughty gaze,
As if I could be their’s to command,
I am the Man they try not to see.
But still I thrive in shadowlands,
Living life in pantherskin,
Walking tall across the moving sand
Loving the sun that I absorb within.
Nothing can shame this proud Man,
Proud of heritage and skin,
And though some scoff at my shadowed hands,
They cannot repress the Man within.
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