we the people

i sit beneath the glowing neon sign, that hangs in the window, as it flickers twice and then extinguishes itself. the day is done and the people are heading home to be with their wives and kids. to feed their dogs and watch their tv shows. to eat their warm dinners and sleep in their warm beds. to put aside their responsibilities and rest their weary souls until another day begins. their day is done and mine is just beginning. my shift has just started. and right on time the men in uniforms show up and tell me to get on my way. i don't resist and i slowly gather my few earthly possessions. i don't blame them, it's their job and im used to it by now. history has a funny way of repeating itself. most cultures have those "dark centuries" that they try to brush under the mat. the continually occurring theme of the native people of the land being forced out. but the government never fails to make up for the inconvenience by so graciously giving the indigenous back a little land that was already theirs. the australian aborigines have the outback. the native americans have reserves. african slaves were actually taken away from their homeland to be given a "home" on a distant plantation. and here i am today, the same kind of unwanted resident, told to vacate the premises and roam my native land as a foreigner, we are just pushed aside in a more socially acceptable way. history has a funny way of repeating itself. we are the displaced. we are the down-and-out. we are abandoned. we are vagabonds. we are homeless. and i know that stare all too well. the judgmental glance and disgusted look from passing strangers. therapists dress it up as xenophobia, it's curiosity, it's sympathy, it's harmless. but really none of it bothers me, it's a stale stereotype, it's nothing more than the product of a conditioned society. but that's how i want it anyway. when no one can find beauty in you, it becomes effortless to see beauty everywhere you look. in a warm smile, in a handshake, in a genuine conversation, in a good laugh. if only they knew about the life we lead while they dream safe and sound in their homes. by day this place belongs to them but by night this city is ours and these still streets bear our names. the cool breeze whispers our freedom. just like the knights of old rode their majestic horses out to save the damsel in distress, so we too ride the midnight subway through the land to protect and to conquer. it may not be as romantic as the medieval tales of history but this train is our ever valiant steed and this city is out beautiful damsel. we are the watchmen. we are the night guards. we are the explorers, charting a new course. each night we take one step deeper into the dark places nobody else would dare to go. just living a simple, yet fulfilled life. and we aren't always looking for great pity, we may just have a little more to offer. history has a funny way of repeating itself. jesus of nazareth was a wanderer, expecting nothing and giving everything. ghandi was a nomadic preacher of love and hope. siddhartha gautama became a vagrant wanting nothing more than knowledge and asking for nothing more than a listening ear. history has a funny way of repeating itself. as the sun rises we hand the keys to the city back to the general populace as we say goodnight. take care of her for us, we will back tonight.