I, you, they
People of demeanour
They are not artists;
Yet they painted me black

We, us, ours
People of expression
Not the way they said;
Yet, they misunderstood our character

Now, then, and again
People of intellect
They understood my personality;
Thus, they knew me beyond my flaws

Understanding, the highest level of prowess
Power to make sense out of no-sense
But even more, the ultimate secret of coexistence
If only we understood ourselves a bit more.