“Coloured”, they gasped
And shied away
And shut their ears
To my infant wail.

“Coloured”, they said
And shook their heads
In disapproval
Denying me education minimal.

“Coloured”, they cried
And then I woke up
Only to be told
That I had been sold.

“Coloured”, they jeered
And wagged their fingers
Care they did not
That my eyes were teary.

“Coloured”, they spat
And deprived me
Of what was mine
My own… my very own right.

Right to speak
Right to choose
Right to live
Right to just be!

Coloured I am… yes
White and pure of heart and mind
Black and blue with scars that bind
Brown of skin and black of hair
Red with the rage of the freedom flair.

But…

Coloured I am not… no
I know I am not
Black at heart or green with envy
Or red with the blood
Of all and sundry.

I’m black-skinned and white-hearted
You are white-skinned and black-hearted
I’m red with passion for liberty
You are red with the blood of my men.

Tell me! O ye just and the wise
You now see our true colours
Which is just? Which is wise?
Coloured to be… as he or me?