We have no special licence
Nor trophy of privilege
To assume we have a right to be here,
To claim our plots of land,
To breathe our share of air,
To leave our footprints in the dust,
To suppose time will care.
We have no legitimate claim
Nor permit of a beating heart
To demand titles and riches and status,
To anticipate equal chances,
To expect every key to every door,
To imprint ourselves in archives,
To be remembered for evermore.
Our place in this life,
Our challenge on this earth,
Our struggle through the act of birth
Is to carry the cross of being human.
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