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Blind Faith

A caste degraded


Way up high

They waved their signs

To a divine messenger

Who called them lesser

And wrote that sin

Was born of skin

And their innocent eyes

Were a putrid guise

To shade their demons

They couldn't leave them

For their devilish sin

Was, according to him, sown in skin

So they raised their pickets high

And prayed to that very same light

That the accuser prays

Until the end of their days


The plight of those afflicted with the caste system, regardless of their status, is horrific. You done a good job of addressing the conundrum of willing acceptance of oppression. You could strengthen this poem by adding more emotion to your observations.