Students in the Colonnade

What do they see in me, when they see me?

                Foreigner.

                The explorer of highways,

                The taker of dares,

                The confident blazer of all their dreams.

Or so it seems, when I see that they see me.

                But what do they see?

                He is Western.

                Defiant of codes, master of his own,

                And captain of his soul:

                The revolutionary success against all things.

Yet it brings me to beg the question, again:

                What do they really see?

                Teacher.

                A warrior of words,

                A victor of books,

                A champion of all that is known.

But can it be shown what they see in me?

                I still ask what it is they see,

                Beneath the skin of a conqueror’s boast,

                Surpassing tales of our myriad ghosts,

                Beyond the calm of the white man’s coast;

                Can I know what they see most?

Can I defend my nature to my host,

                Or will they glance at all the posts

                That lift up this Ozmandian throne?

                When I have gone, will they have known

                The truth of who I see in me?
                O my King, let it be shown.

-Ry