As the crackling carousel of jazz music
Shakes the chrysanthemum strewn glade1,
We dance, we work, we play, we sing,
Yet, denied a place in the gala parade. 2
From a distant vista, we see the bands,
All arrayed in bright crimson and gold;
They wave gently as they pass us by—
But our weary hearts, they do not know.
For eons we have nursed their infants,
Our prayers for them, have touched the Sun,
Perhaps, some day, they will notice us—
And then realize, that we are one! 3

Open your [eyes],
We are your darker brothers. 4


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Background info & references on this poem