I am not you

I am not you

my skin is black i am reminded of it everyday

as i pass on the streets of this developed country

yes they look at me and whisper of my skin colour

"oh i dont know why they come to our country?"

yet their streets are adorned with our wealth

ripped from our counties like an unborn child from the womb

they see us and they loath us without knowing why

i walk to the employment agency

"oh so you speak our language

but we cannot give you managerial jobs,that is for our people"

i ask why,i have the qualifications just as they do

even a degree from their university

they just nod a way and tell me

"you can either work in packaging goods at the warehouse or cleaning homes"

i chose the lesser evil

i wake up in the morning it is still night

the others who are not like me are still sleeping

i find the big warehouse where for eight hours i will be on my feet

with little break in between to cool them

the supervisors are breathing on my neck

they are not like me

"hurry up your productivity is low

you have to package 50 items in two minutes"

i stand there and wonder"why did i come to this place?"

at that moment my phone rings

its my neigbour from Latin america

probably asking for money to buy food

i will respond to him later

and get back to my 100 items in five minutes

and maybe one day i will have enough to escape poverty