I have no people; indeed, no heritage.
I am the confused mix of history and chance
That leaves ancestral lands laid waste
And bares the emptiness of tradition.
I am the descendant of liars and thieves,
Of slavemongers, con-men, and whores --
I have no claims to divinity:
No Son of Heaven, or God, just man and mud.
I have no family homestead, no inheritance
Of attics, basements, or cemeteries;
Neither temples of grandmothers to pray to,
Nor churches sacred and fore sworn.
I do not lament this as a loss;
Yet never having, I have no respect.