It’s lonely, this long wait
for reparations.

It’s cold outside the castles
built by thieves.

It’s cruel trying to name
ten tender leaders.

It’s gruesome how so many
live on lies.

I’m wailing when I want to sing
of glory.

I crumble as I find
nowhere to stand.

My people think the same they thought
through ages:

The rich and gorgeous things
belong to us.

I grieve because I find 
no love and mercy—

no interest in a different
way to live.

I want a map that leads
away from taking.

A way to change our minds.
To start again.