Elixir darker than blood penned on porcelain coloured parchment, the reflections of my reckonings, caged transgressions and feelings. -Z.
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I will stand tall, With my head held high, Making the sun, Admire my dark skin contrasting with the bright sky.
My brown afro hair, Will create envy in even the moon so fair.
My mocha coloured eyes, Will shine brighter where each glittery star lies.
My thick lips would yell my identity out loud, 'I am an African child', And I will happily admit it with pride in my twirl.
The strong winds will travel my words farther, Leaving them raw, pure and most of all proud.
These shameless words, Will sail from the west, where I hail, To similar souls afar, Awakening them from their slumbers.
Not everyone might understand, Because their birth places have the upper hand. They might even spew words of scorn, Thinking that the pride within me is torn.
But as long as Africa is alive, There are a million chances, For her people to commence their strive, To show the real sanctuary of peace, wealth and beauty, After slaying the false convictions, And the dark, negative taint entrenched in her roots.
Until then, I am still an African child, And my heart refuses to be oppressed and mild!
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