White Passing

Do not ask the whites about me;

They sneer at the thought

that I am something else-

A child of the wild,

unpredictably

mixed.

Do not ask the indigenous,

to claim my pale skin.

I am a bastard-

of the colonizer's

Utopia.

They say I am better,

than my ancestors-

because I stand

on the shoulders

of giants.

But a question isn't dangerous,

until someone doesn't think twice.

Where

Do I

Belong?

They say,

somewhere in the middle.

I hate grey areas-

No amount of colour censorship

Will shut my white mouth.

But I need to win

the respect of both.

I refuse to be-

One dimensional,

One shade,

Half empty.

I will braid my hair

and listen to pop,

because,

White passing is a verb.

I may pass as someone white,

I may pass as deep in thought,

I may pass as someone younger,

or older.

And you may pass me-

on the street

and say nothing.