People seek ‘their’ people in people
When they get lost in an uncaring lot.
They wear symbols to stand out,
Carry clothes that talk loud of a place
Demarked on a patch of land called home.
They smile, when they do, at their reflections,
And laugh when they match colors of their skins.
They break bread with no stranger,
But a stranger with their clothes on is a friend,
While poor vagrants die of hunger at their door.
The different is greeted with swords,
So they have a lesser world to share,
Fewer mouths to feed and care
For if you ask me I will say,
It is the groups we become where walls stand,
It is these things we don where boundaries lie
And not in our hearts;
We were never taught to hate.