The bars are bendable,
Except for the one that lets your food grow,
So your belly’s full.
My rhymes are designed by a master shrine,
From Zoroastrianism and visions of generations
Of tolerance timed to divine patience.
Let the mind awaken,
Hollering since the collar has been tightening our frustration,
Blue or white, brown or black as night,
Red widely as Jesus Christ,
When denied fruitful greens, blues become a way of life…