by K. H., Age 14 , Grade 9, Harold M Brathwaite S.S.

The world upon which we gave life,

Now going through sharp turns as a knife.

The harsh conditions we began

Are settling in to stay-a plan

But will our clean earth remain a small thought?

Can we bring joy again that life once brought?

Will we ever go and change our mistakes?

Should we even think about it and just take a break?


From the Shakespearean ballads,

His thoughts-vivid and valid.

Our ideas just like it-so bold and bright,

Yet not a single useful one at sight.

Yes, the angelic androids that seem to advance,

But does the human race really have a chance?


Like a caged bird, stuck to what we own,

So many yet so alone.

To the orderly people like us so fragile and financed,

Do people like us really have a chance?


To the beautiful, hissing sounds of the streams,

To the bright sun like fire that gleams,

To the future that glows,

To the past that just flows,

To the people and things that are wasted,

To the people and things that are down right hated.

To question my kind-the beings of order,

Will we never cross the border?


Will we hold a white flag up high?

And just let our notorious nature sigh?

Or can we get up and fight for this desire,

And freely, with confidence yell “WE'RE ON FIRE!”

Can we empower our problems of class, money, and inequality of all?

Or will you just stand, and watch the rest of your world fall.

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