Scifi poem

Jul. 13th, 2017 06:13 pm
fayanora: SK avatar (Default)
[personal profile] fayanora
I found this poem I wrote some unknown time ago. I was considering publishing it, but I wouldn't know where, and it's so much work for so long to do that, I just don't want to go to that much trouble when I could just hit "post entry." And it's such an amazing poem! Told from the perpective of... well, you'll see.


“The Brown, The Green, and The Black”
By = Tempest Alexandria Arts

The white man took the world, spreading out among its lands by sea,
Exploiting all they touched, stealing the land from the people already there.
They stole the New World from the natives, killing the Red Man,
Bringing the Black Man from Africa as slaves to work for them.

They went to China, spread drug addiction and misery, for their profit,
And India for spices they never use, spreading misery to the cradle of writing.
Every bit of land they could find they took for theirs,
Exploiting its people even into the 21st century.

The white man went into space, and found no resources, no people to exploit,
So they grew bored with it, for the most part.
Sure, they sent their robots out to fly by far-off worlds,
Touched the moon a few times with their men, but then stopped.
“There's nothing in space but black,” they said,
Upset they'd made no green.

When the people of India and China started going up there, they scoffed.
“We wasted all that money going up there; they're not learning from our mistakes!”
They told us all there was in space was rocks and more rocks,
Forgetting there was a time when all we had were rocks;
All they let us have as they raped our lands were stones.

Like weeds growing in the sidewalk, they tried to kill us off,
So they could keep our lands for themselves.
But like weeds growing in the sidewalk, we persisted.
For life would always find a way, and we still lived.

We found the barren rocks they'd abandoned,
And grew like weeds among them.
In the black, we – the brown – made green.
The green of growth, as we built giant rotating farms in the sky.

From India and China, from Japan, from Africa,
From the Middle East, from the New World,
All the brown and red and yellow, every color but white,
Worldwide, we came together and spread through the black,
Making stone soup, growing life among the stars.

The white man still owns the earth, but we own the stars,
With colonies on the moon, the asteroids, and Mars.
And the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and beyond.
Millions of acres of farm and factory, raking in two kinds of green.
Feeding humanity, the breadbasket of the solar system is no longer earth.

And the white man? They are tourists with their cameras,
The old Japanese stereotype passed on to them,
As they marvel at all we've built, at all the green,
The same color they've become, with envy,
Because they were too 'yellow' to make green among the black,
Leaving that to the brown.
To us.

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