Faced with the hard paper
I stop.
Very few questions
intimidate me
but this one has me
messed up.

What am I?
Am I white, sir
am I pink?
Am I black and yellow,
brown or gold?

A hundred centuries are
mixed in my veins.
Who knows
which blood prevails?

Why don’t you ask me
other things?
Or nothing at all?

Yes, I feel sorry that children
die of hunger,
golden, white
or yellow.
Yes, I feel sorry that old people
die sad,
isolated,
be white,
be black,
be pink.

Yes, I think that among all
the blues and the greens
and the reds…
WE can do something.

God painted the world
in other tones,
that go beyond
the human spectrum.

I answer the question
with an “other.”

Yes, other color,
other thought,
another moan…