This is my origin.
From here I was born.
The roots planted at my feet take me back to a land that was once ours.

In the color of my skin
I can see my ancestors.
Their beliefs.
Their customs.
Their history.
It is not lost.
It lives within me.
Within the native blood that courses through my veins.

I can hear the songs.
The music and the dances around a raging fire.
The song turns to screams.
Fire grows hotter.

The invasion begins by the original immigrants that now call it home.
Spilling blood with weaponry never seen before.
Talking in a language never heard before.
Preaching about gods never preached before.
Taking what once was ours and making it their own.
Calling it home.

But by the color of my skin.
And the blood filled roots within me.
We will remember.
What was once ours.