The Swedes. The Swiss. The Serbs. The
The Welsh. The Dutch. The Czechs. The
The French Canadians. The Mexicans.
The Falkland Islanders. The Japanese.
The Sri Lankans. The Thais. The Vietnamese.
The Kurds. The Yemenites. The Micronesians.
The Aborigines. The Eritreans.
The Zanzibari and the Congolese.
Among them all are closet-men who are
uncertain who they really are. Each one
of them will live his darkness or his light,
his desert or his sea, his map, his star.
Each neighbor, cousin, uncle, nephew, son.
My countrymen. My brothers of the night.
If you have any comments on this poem, G.S. Crown would be
pleased to hear from you.