He wears it in gaiety.
it will be in my dominion.
Soaked with tears,
Strap with toil,
Patched with torments of broken aspiration.
Fifteen hours under hollows,
To earn red cents.
Stinks of suffering from it is unbearable,
Yet, my nostrils tell me, is a fragrance of hard work.
You call him the black sheep,
He is a soldier in his armour,
No. He is not a black sheep; a black panther.
Tattered but he wears it with gladness.
Dirty but he wants the coins.
Cries in secret, Smile to hid his agony.
He wants a better life for us,
For us to be somebody,
For us to be a better him.
I see a black man,
I see a man of strength,
I see my father in his work uniform.