The Pianist’s Message

But I’m just the pianist, a messenger,

I’ll tell you a story, of colour and struggle

You’d listen, wouldn’t you?

A very long time ago, there were gems and diamonds

So beautiful, invaluable

And as time went on, the stones they became

Their dignity and  worth assessed by their colour

And treated as if they didn’t matter.

The keys I play, tell you the story of their toil

Black and white, distinct in every demeanor

The misery and pain in the melody I play, you feel it don’t you

You picture a plight of unforgivable misdoings

But I’m just the pianist, with a message to give.

Standing on twos, they learnt as they grew

But on fours they were made to crawl, just because of the hue

The beautiful hue

What is so revolting about it?

Dubbed by yearly trends as the classy LBD

Worn on the skin forever, yet treated as a nobody

I play to you this song, I sing to you

Sharing the story of their weariness

Subjected to torture, got them praying for mercy in a deprecatory mess

But then again I’m just the pianist, working my fingers on this organ

Serenading to you, beautiful people, a song about the belittled coloured man

Who was made to endure a painful struggle.

A very long time ago, hope was alive,

At times surreal, but they fought for our future

One that would be just to all

Where colour wouldn’t mean war

Where unity wasn’t just for the selected,

Where you and I would be respected

I am the pianist, singing to you the story known by many

Colour is divided by a wall,

And some gems and diamonds are considered not so shiny and polished after all.