They look at us gleaming reverie through wide eyes
Excited to see us as if we were a nicer kind
They wave their hands to greet us with big smiles
While I wonder whether we deserved it.
It bothers me.
Their enthusiasm at our sight manifests the hypocritical
Differences they have been fed over a century of history,
Developed countries versus worlds called third
By those who self-proclaimed themselves first.
We remember them only when we see them.
We go to them on holiday or move to their lands to flee
Escape our reality for a dream,
Though when we do we are expats
Whilst when they do they are immigrants.
Needless to say, we do not greet them the same way.
From the taxi window I see the giggling girls nod at me
From a packed truck-bus with no windows and no seats.
They look beautiful but oh so naïve, or so I think.
I think I’d like to tell them the truth, open their eyes
To our lack of respect, the trash we scatter,
The opportunities we seek, ruthlessly and so egotistically,
How we slyly treat them as slaves
Underpaid workers or ladies by the hour the same,
How we dig, for their natural resources
In exchange of peanuts and then scold them
For their slow progress, accusing them of laziness,
How we take without asking never mind ever giving
How we turn blind eyes to their misery.
But they wouldn’t want to know, they are not afflicted
By the white man’s guilt nor would they comprehend it,
All they see is us spending money and having alleged fun
And dream one day to be just as happy as we are.
My father would say careful what you wish for.
I know the day will come when no distinction will be made
Based on colours, beauty, revenues, cultures or beliefs,
No one will be more or less of a human nor anyone
Will want to be anyone else other than oneself.
But until then the generosity and abundance of their smiles
Feel like lashes on the goosebumps on my skin.
[Featured photo: A loaded truck on dusty road in Bagan, Myanmar, by artist unknown]