Tell me, you who is proud of your skin
How do you feel being so proud?
How do you feel scolding someone for being darker?
Your snickers escalate and become surround sound
A judgmental tune ensues, unpleasant to the ears
And you, artist, continue to perform
The crowd grows uncomfortable as you perform
The show is indoors so you don’t gain black skin
Do you believe your uncivil voice pleases the ear?
As you yell: “you black, you not pretty,” are you proud?
Does “skin whitener” and a harp have the same sound
Because both sound better than: “you’ve gotten darker?”
Does it bother you that much to become darker?
Is the sun not always out where you perform?
Do you hear how your ancestors’ screams sound?
Do you know that they may have been darker?
Their colonizers did tried make them feel less proud
Does the pain they endured no pierce your ears?
Would you let your sentiments fill their ears?
Would you make fun of them for being darker?
Would whitening what God gave you make them proud?
Would you wear a white mask if asked to perform
As a slave in case you cannot whiten your skin?
If whipped, those lips, may be shut; no sound.
You wouldn’t be able to make that snickering sound
You’re oppressed, and your pain is music to the ears
Of the oppressor oppressing you because of your skin
Because of their disdain for those who are darker
So they are satisfied by the hate they perform
They’re whiter, wanting to be similar makes them proud
Their socio-political power makes them proud
Even in the present, you hear it in how they sound
You hear it in the news and the music they perform
Their lack of authenticity noticed by the ear
Sounds like you when you bully someone darker
Someone who possesses nearly the same skin
Someone who feels biasa about their skin
Someone who knows the blessings of being darker
Someone who doesn’t possess your same weak ear
