I want to know of my ancestors.
Yet the epic of colonialism,
Has for generations,
On multiple lines, kept faces, names, and ties
From kith and kin;
Kept us inextricably separated by imagined borders;
Separated with skins and flags of
fabricated colors;
Holding weapons and wealth
Unequal, unequitable,
As motive
For a status quo of harm,
Because just maybe one day
One of “us” will be on the “winning” team,
With change in pocket
And blood on hands;
Yet when in the moment of judgment
Will you be able to
Confess honestly
If any of it was worth it,
As we finally face our
Ancestors.