Some call me wild one,

Others do not speak to me at all.

I am the blank-face man,

Fighting against the wind.

It is raining, cats and dogs,

It is raining, needles and pins.

I am the blank-faced man

Whose color is gold,

Whose speech goes unrecognized,

Whose language is unknown.

My gestures must seem odd to the gold people.

I am gagged, I don't speak the same tongue.

I am fighting against the wind,

And no one has won.

Some call me wild one,

Others do not speak to me at all--

These are the people of the sun

Of whom I uttered, in my foreign tongue,

"Tell me, what is my name?"

My gestures must seem odd to the gold people,

For I am the blank-faced man, standing in the rain.

*This poem is about the loss of cultural identity.*