N U D E - poetry of an unquiet mind ✓

iii. the african soil

the african soil

I am.
I am grown.
I am grown –
Like the plants entangled in it,
the soil raises me to great heights.
I bleed ivory and copper,
at the hands of my
Oppressors.
They want to see my soul seep through –
only, I call to the gods,
a simple daughter of
the soil,
to seek justice for my own.
Ndzi kurile!
Ndzi kurile!
Ndzi kurile!
The soil dances,
the wind sings,
the trees clap,
encouraging me
as I search between the crevices and cracks
of Mother Earth to find the fruit she bears
In hopes –
In hopes that I can awaken
The potential that thrives in me.
Thrives so strongly
Like the golden sun that's bathed
my ancestors and me alike.
You see this soil is rich,
Rich for two reason:
The natural minerals
And the people
Who die with their potential.
Now do you hear me when I say 'I am'?
Cry with me, children of the soil!
I am grown.
Raised to great heights.
Don't let me die,
With this potential
Inside.

// R.M

A/N
Dedicated to Tumi. Our late night conversations inspired this 2am written poem.