The never ending story

They were scattered! Somewhat clueless of what's to come. Trying to stay focused on the task ahead! But it was their eyes that confirmed uncertainty.
They were out numbered! Knowing full well that they were stripped of their voices...but our shade never took it from them. It was their own blood.

Growing up... I mimicked them, folding their styles and behaviours in my skin and brain. Despite my colour, my voice and attitude was theirs. I did it to be accepted, i did it to grow and to be recognised. I did grow...beside them that is...and I realised how much of them I wasn't. I saw that we can never be alike! But we can and did coexist.

Back to the previous story, they're three of them now, amoung eleven. How timid they seemed, but we were total strangers. Lending them only hands of welcome, but the fear of their ancestors gripped them. Probably old bedtime stories around curry and nasty fingers flashed in their heads as they looked into our eyes. The eyes that are always filled with grey, but lined with silver peering at the small light we call "hope".

I stared right back at them, questioning their inspiration and why I pity them. I'm angered!!
This daily injustice we all face because of our ancestors. Why the division? The silent animosity? The expected demise of our heritage?
I wanted them close! Beckoned them to opened arms; but they sat expressionless; they were never thought to taste of dark cherries.