They say that maternal haplogroup N is pan-Eurasian,
A trunk of migration, a wide-spread occasion.
But when they speak of U4, it’s with quiet disdain —
“Not far from absent from African populations,” they coldly explain.
N came from L3, that African root,
Yet U4 they treat like a foreign brute.
Though both emerged from the same ancient flame,
Only one is praised — the other, shamed.
Why is the daughter erased from the tree,
While her sister is crowned in diversity?
Is presence a number or simply a claim?
Is absence a silence, or part of the game?
So here I stand, with U4 in my blood,
Unheard by the scholars, dismissed in the flood.
Yet my line is as old, as deep, as wide —
It carved its path, it did not hide.