Son of Scavenger

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They see the dust that clings, the stain,

The shadow of the sewer's pain.

They taste the scorn, unsaid, unbent,

On paths where my father's sweat was spent.

But in this heart, a different beat,

Beyond the stench of every street.


I am not merely grime, nor dread,

But thoughts that dance inside my head.

I see the walls you build so high,

That mark where "worthy" others lie,

And where the "lesser" souls must dwell,

A living, breathing, separate hell.

But I see threads, where you see none,

Of common worth, beneath the sun.

Each letter in a borrowed book,

A spark that makes the old order shook.


My hands, they bear the work of ages,

But dreams unfold on unread pages.

My name, you whisper, low and deep,

A brand you hoped that I would keep.

This lineage you deem my cage,

Will be the fuel for a brighter stage.


For I am seed beneath the stone,

A story waiting to be known.

A breath that whispers, "We are more,"

Than what your rigid lines enforce before.

And though the past still pulls and calls,

My future is a breaking of your walls.


Tell me, oh keepers of your ordered sphere,

What law divine deems it so clear

That skin and birth should draw the line,

To separate your world from mine?

And for the years of silent tears,

My vengeance blooms in conquered fears.

The life you sought to keep suppressed,

Will rise in knowledge, truly blessed.

For in this dawn, a truth I see:

No human soul can truly be

Confined by chains of old decree.

The revolution starts with me.


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