Exile I am, child of
Brown lands
Brown skins
Brown memories
Brown songs.
Now, my dreams are white,
The white of my sorrowing soul
In this white land
Strange and estranged.
The dreams come to visit me
In each sleep.
They tell me of
White hopes and prayers
And white justice.
Ay, but even the language of my sleep
Is the white's English, the rolled R's
Fail to form in my lips.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Gardena/Los Angeles, CA
2003
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