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My teacher in Society and Culture once recited us a poem about the racism against the colored people (black). I love the message of the poem that’s why I searched it up and here’s how it goes:

Listen white man,

When I was born, I was black;

When I grow up, I’m black;

When I’m ill, I’m black;

When I go out in the sun, I’m black;

When I’m cold, I’m black;

When I die, I’m black;

But you,

When you’re born, you’re pink;

When you grow up, you’re white;

When you’re ill, you’re green;

When you go out in the sun, you’re red;

When you’re cold, you’re blue;

When you die, you’re purple;

And you have the nerve to call us colored?