She walked down the polished street
Her chocolate-colored skin shone in the light.
In a mix of cream-colored weeds,
The dark rose was a queer sight.
With her arms filled with books,
Her head filled with dreams,
Her gown filled with holes,
That she alone could not seam.
They came out now,
Uttering her name.
As while they couldn't hurt her,
Her feelings were certainly something they could maim
Just because she was different,
She listened to it all
How she should know her place
And how soon her kind would fall
How somebody of her skin,
Had no place in their new age,
How she had no right to talk to them,
To write her story on a new page.
Her eyes stinging with tears,
She ran to the skid row she called home,
For she thought what they said was true
As she owned no money or pome.
Her tears caustic with dismay
But she knew, deep down, that for a dark rose in Little Rock,
This was just another day.
Durva Kamdar is 11 years old and lives in Singapore. She is an avid writer and has always enjoyed reading. She especially loves historical, mythological, and science fiction stories. She is also a poet at heart.
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