They are gypsies, they are artists, clandestine,
They are wanderers, acrobats, dancers so fine. Vagabonds, bandits, northerners in line, Minstrels, buccaneers, living libertine.
Immigrants, Tuaregs, and Bedouins too, Barbarity! - Like birds, they sing their tune. Ancestral swallows, they roam as they swoon! Collectors, hunters, indigenous crew. Otavalos, craftsmen, off the beaten path strewn!
Foreigners, strangers, and pilgrims in quest, From these tribes of turbans, they make their bequest, Pirates, and beggars, no shelter, no rest.
Sons of the desert, of doom, of fate, Banished, refugees, running from hate, Hunger their foe, pursued by the plague, Born from the war, catastrophes' mate.
In the Aegean, Afghans drown without sight, Syrians assaulted in Turkey's moonlight. Persecuted Palestinians like Jews in '39, Old Yugoslavs scattered through space and time. Zapotecas from Oaxaca, '94 on their plate. Colorful crossings through Colorados' gate, Louisiana blacks facing anger and hate!
Those who pass through, who do not remain, Flying like kites in a cyclone's fierce reign, Spreading like spores, a diaspora's refrain, Like smoke in the wind, they replicate pain, Wandering o'er pastures, with thoughts on the wane!
All... all of these who knock on my door today, Beating with their hooves on my land's display, Springing up like winter's flowers in array, Like spores in diaspora, like purges that sway, A chaos, a turmoil that doesn't decay...
They disrupt my peaceful London's sway, Annoy the boundaries of my postmodern bay! Like Huns encircling my slumbering Rome's way!
I hammer one more nail into the stake, Build thicker fences, my rifle I take, I protect the Parthenon for my offspring's sake, Dig deeper trenches, like abysses they make, Raise walls, open ditches, with bullets at stake.
In my Eden, I purify my skin's plight, My genome preserved in a console's light, Like Mickey defending his castle's height, Rapunzel cutting strands in her refuge's site...
I laugh, I'm the white man who's laughing bold, The arm that humiliates, so cold! Rubbing my genitals on the blister, behold, This hideous Lazarus, toiling and old.
Like Adam training dogs in paradise's flight, Preserving the good life in my tomb's sight, A well-fed Minotaur in labyrinth's night, Watching with pride the suicide's might, Of this human part that's part of my sight.
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