The Cry of the Natives

A dream…You the policeman,I the wandering vagrant.You upholding the laws that join house to houseAnd field to field til there is no more room left in the earth.I complying, moving on from place to place.But everywhere I go, you find me.You are the policeman in every town I come to,The good guy, the one with the law on his side.But you remember that we were once of the same tribe,Friends and brothers,And you take it easy on me.I remember that you crept into my home and lay with my lady.That you took advantage of what you perceived as weaknessTo steal my children and to paint me in their heartsWith the darkest shades of black.And I can live with that.I hold no resentment.But all the same,I miss them.My soul longs for my family.And I try to hint, to plead, that you could help me bridge the gap.But it falls on deaf earsTil finally, exasperated, I cry out, “I hate you, how I hate you!”You recoil. You draw back, surprised.“No, no,” I say. “Not really!”And then from someplace deep inside,“But you have no idea, how what you've done has hurt me!”And finally, recognition sparks within your eyes.You stand aghast at the realization.And then I wake upAnd wonder…Did you hear my cry?