I thought of a place A place where my soul could go to be alone. From here to there with fragile wings I have flown.
Where I could be myself, With all my faults, faults multiplied by ten. Faults I confessed to myself, often.
Where I could observe and understand The workings of the universe A universe that often seems to work To my mind in total reverse.
I thought of a place where There would be a meeting place For all colors and accents without anybody Trying to outdo the other Trying to out-talk and show their superiority Over another's culture and birth.
Words, like needles, often prick. Be yourself, that is the trick.
I thought of a place Where they would look at the person Behind the strange name, strange face Strange accent and strange degrees.
And that is the truth in every country and city.
Unfortunately, more's the pity We can educate and prune From Arctic winter to monsoon; There is a high born accent A low born accent A third world accent, And one for those who live in a tent.