Rasta in Babylon


When I walk down the streets,
Babylonians stop and stare.
Looking at me
like I don’t belong here.
Though I have no extra limbs,
or twisted features on my face.
They all look at me,
with looks of distaste.
I should be accustomed to it,
because since they arrived.
Of all their privileges,
I have been deprived.
When they look at me,
someone tell me what they are seeing
because when I look in the mirror,
I am still a Human Being

I Am a Rasta
Ras Tafari
Rasta in babylon



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