Come down  sun.
Come down rain
Come down sorrow.
Come down pain,
We don’t know
What we will find
Come down sweet.
Come down fine
We  walk on
When there’s no  hope
Come down caring
Come down   lost
We   believe.
There is the Good
We will never
Give life up
Come down pity
Come down,haunt
We will never
Uproot love

My effort

https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/racism-narcissism-america-original-sin-190809135036012.html

EXTRACT

A racist’s narcissism need not be a personality disorder. As psychologists Jean Twenge and W Keith Campbell pointed out in The Narcissism Epidemic, many narcissists may appear to be “functioning well” by most social standards. At the societal level, racism and narcissism are really a flaw of the human condition, not a disorder.

Where American racism and narcissism come together is in the constant urge to maximise advantage over others and satiate the desire for greatness and wealth. This is mixed with a disdain for those who have been deemed lesser and the willful ignorance of the conditions in which they may suffer. In other words, racism and narcissism are two separate yet interdependent constructs, not a mental illness.

The American roots of these constructs are quite clear and reach back as far as the first colonies. Take the history of the Jamestown colony established in 1607. For four centuries, its story has been one of hard-working Englishman John Smith in the US and of the “good” Native American Pocahontas (her actual name was Amonute or Matoaka) saving his life when her “bad” Native American father Powhatan attempted to kill him.

This, however, never happened: Smith invented this story in 1624, years after Matoaka’s death. And the actual story of Jamestown provides many examples of the racism and narcissism of the US’s early colonialists.

Despite all the self-praise, the fact is that colonialists managed to survive only thanks to the help of Matoaka’s tribe, the Pamunkey, during the winters of 1607, 1608, and 1609. The gold- and silver-seeking Englishmen, having no experience in farming or fishing, would have all died of starvation and disease before a resupply reached their colony.

The rich may not be cruel, but they are blind
They don’t  know how poor most workers are
They do not mean to be   at all unkind

We all have our defences, undefined
Unconscious of our malice,  their despair
The rich may not be cruel, but they are blind

The unemployed,  disabled, are maligned
Without a proper voice , this is unfair
Who does not mean to be   at all unkind?

Men have toiled  for years in  dark coal mines
Glad to be at work but often scared
The rich may not be cruel, but they are blind

The  poor are growing reckless, unresigned
Jerusalem, what has your Lord to say?
Which human  does not mean to be  unkind?

 

Ignorance is not  the worthy way
Give money to the outcasts  as they sigh
The rich may not be cruel, but they are blind
They do not know they’ve  sacrificed their minds

 

 

My doctor is Indian
Is he red?
Well  read.

My doctor takes my BP
That is theft

My doctor is kind
That’s fortunate.

My doctor is also a surgeon
Don’t let him cut you off

My doctor likes crosswords
When said to a patient, that’s terrible

He thinks I am very brave
What, for putting  up with him?

My doctor takes a shower
From the Cloud?

My doctor loves my writing
Do you do italic or copperplate?

My doctor can’t understand my poetry
Tell him it’s  post modern

My doctor likes me
They have to fake it.

My doctor travels all over the wold
Thanks for the warning

Could it be despair  that held me tight

in the wintry evening and the night

I could not see a way to  carry on

Everything  was wrong and I was done

 

I saw great blackness all around myself

I could not be restored, I had no health

I   had reached the end of seeking aid

G-d alone  knew all the coins were paid

 

Inexplicable, the  golden light

That made a sweet shawl round me on that night

Impressing me with kindness and goodwill

Holding me until I ‘d had my fill

 

Most sensuous, most tangled with love’s  grace

Surrounding me,  protecting my lost face

As if the arms of love were something real

That anyone  who knew this  must reveal

 

Only when we reach the very end

May the force of love on  us descend