LOOKING FOR AN IDENTITY
They call her black, a child of a black nation, They call her poor, a child of the slums, They call her little girl, a child of her mother, But what does she call herself? She stares into oblivion, Oblivion where she sees nothing, Nothing has come out of her life, Life that she has had to face. A memory comes to mind, Mind that has had to ponder a lot, A lot about her past and the looming future, Future that is meant to define her. She was once bright, Bright to read and write, Write she did for her life depended on it, It was after all her education. She thought it would deliver her from poverty, Poverty that she had been born into, Into a life of misery and anguish, Anguish she faced at the hands of a predator, It was a chilly morning, Morning that was beautiful and calm, Calm that she needed in her life, Life that had dealt her one blow after another. Mother said he was the Good Samaritan, Samaritan who would pay her