THE PIECES WILL COME TOGETHER

The task has been arduous; the salary, meager
We were building China’s Great Wall when a brick broke my leg
It has been years since I heard me called a father
I have crossed oceans and deserts in search of greener pastures
It was green only from afar—I’m still a broke bloke
A self-made refugee I am; illegally smuggling my way into bondage
Oh deceptive eyes! Why didn’t you tell me it was a screen of smoke?
Little did I know I made the distance to make myself a slave
Though rough, I look at the bright side of darkness
I am looking; yet to see what I hope for
I still embrace the tale of a servant addressed as ‘Your Highness’
Maybe the south will accept me if rejected by the north
I am hanging on no rope—will live the life of the living
The clot in my wound tells a story—there will be a healing