Covered all my life,
Living quietly and neglected.
Developing in an open scene-
Unprotected.
Only to be mined like nothing special-
Chipped away,
Taken to start a new life on this day.

They’re taking me far away
The dark dry cave,
Preparing to buff all imperfections
God gave.
Washed. Cut. Endlessly cleaned.
Until the permanent mark in my side-
It now gleamed.

These men are hiding
What it is I am.
What I was worth back home.
In Moroccan dirham.
Stripping me of an identity:
The one thing I used to hold.
But now I fit their perfect mold.

Resting in this glass case,
Along a silver city street.
I am listening to the new world,
The feel of the harsh beat.
I’ve been turned into a hard item.
One to be judged by the rich.
And my will to go back home is strong-
A persistent itch.

Yet even with my cold new surroundings,
I will always hold,
In my heart the place
That made me feel as soft as gold