She lay right next to him as he slept, her eyes piercing through all the corners of his body, “What an amazing creature.” Her mind elaborated. He was as dark as black berries, skin smooth as satin and he just slept like there wasn’t an overwhelming amount of greatness in the room. A woman with so much poise and strength fell weak to the knees with this man by her side. The love he showered her with was of another world, he made her feel as if she was a queen that ruled dynasties.
He listened when she spoke, gave her opinion a chance, “A world filled such isolation, selfishness, I choose to be selfless with you…” she thought as she ran her fingers through his coiled hair. She felt his hand get tighter around her waist, her king was awake. As they grew closer together with the advancement of his gestures, she became hot as a ray of sunshine. His hands had an effect on her, her spinal cord would run electricity through it as power lines, her fountain would tingle like the bells of Christmas carols.
She did not understand why her body surrendered to him so quickly, without having to try too hard. Her body knew his hands like never before, when their bodies touched their hearts became uniform. With a slow cloudy kiss on the forehead he said, “Grand rising my queen, you look awfully fair today.” His voice was of a lion, speaking to his lioness with an abundance of love. He would look at her in her eyes, they were bright and gloomy, very welcoming.
He drew on her eyebrows with his finger as if he was a makeup artist, he had never seen such a beautiful woman. Skin fair as the blue skies of spring, lips full and dark like red grapes. She was the epitome of monarchy.
Love had never looked so beautiful in each of their eyes, so perfect, in line. They both felt as if they were made for each other, and they were. Black love is completely golden, godly. When it is embraced it conquers the world. It brings utter joy in the souls that collide in search for it. Breaks boundaries and creates stepping stones. Black love is gold. Black love is black!
Coconut oil gives you moisture
To shine your crown
Heat damage the ultimate torture
Leaves your scalp with a large frown
With endless possibilities of a terrible future
The exact way an adjective stands next to a noun
Like tree leaves your hair grows
Split ends need to be cut
Leaves fall in winter everybody knows
You need to be precise, the scissor cannot be blunt
Your hair is one with nature
Even with the ocean I presume
It blooms when drenched in water
You smell of shea butter and avocado oil
Mother earths perfume
Relaxers and flat irons carved for your destruction
To make your antennas weaker
But it never stops growing
Always under construction
You are natures true keeper
Your weakness will never be found
Your gravity defier
A sky scraper
It’s so amazing how one can give life, nuture it and make it’s future right. Stay alive… for a while and leave you with so many lessons in such a short space of time all about life. Keep you happy all days, making you straight all ways always and still love you for you who are. They help you learn to love who you are, with your flaws, you can’t help but take all their adversities and make them yours because they have carved you into a pillar, ground up.
Their love will make you seek no other, fill spaces left by a father… and yes I’m talking about a mother. 9 months she let me live in her belly no rent I say, even though eventually I have to leave her house she still wants me to stay. Her love is forever flowing like the Victoria falls, she takes all my pain and makes it hers to endure. Like wine her love ages gracefully and grows more expensive with time, a responsibility given to her by the Supreme Being, to give life and keep what stores it.
She may not be here in flesh but I speak of her in present tense because I follow her lessons of life wherever I go. As I play the Comodores “Just to be close to you, girl” I feel her hand on my shoulder. I hear her tell me that all is alright, that all that I am going through is for a reason. She takes all bitter things and adds brown sugar to them, lemon, life, you name it.
Her dark brown eyes stare at me in protection as I sleep, guarding me from the vultures of this world. I know she fights my battles as I rest. Three girls she raised with love and patience, made them love themselves and each other with no hesitation. I stand because of the love she made into legs for me, I listen because of the patience she made into ears for me, I speak because of the humour she made into a voice for me.
A part of her lives in me, I feel it everyday.My mother is a conqueror, she has faught many battles, those we know and those she thinks we don’t know. A strong black woman who is not apologetic about who she is, she is. I love her with all that is in me. I would write about her till my ink dries and there would be lots missing, this is not even half of what she is.
My womb keeper. My mother.
Today I saw a little boy with a pen and a piece of paper. I was in a taxi, he was sitting right next to me with his mother. A young lady she was, she sat there holding her sons hand so tight. Looking out the window, thinking of all the wrongs the world had done to her but she never fought back, she never stood up, never believed in herself. He kept fidgeting, trying to make a way to unite the pen and the paper as they were so distant.
She pulled his hand and said aggressively, “Stop fidgeting!” The anger in her words pierced right through his ears and he stopped moving in an instant. Knowing how to treat a child that had so much passion for something was so distant to her. She never got any support from her family, she could never really express herself growing up. She just did not know how to react to her sons love for writing, she just did not know.
Her phone rang, I could see the delight in the boy’s eyes as she let go of his hand. As the pen touched that piece of paper, I heard the laugh of Chinua Achebe filled with so much joy, a great Afrikan writer had finally began his quest to success. I watched him write on that piece of paper like there was no tomorrow, as if his mother would never put her phone down. His pen danced on that piece of paper so gracefully.
Nothing excited a child like a blank piece of paper, it exudes so much power to them. The power to sketch away their fears and bring them to bravery. The power to write their traumas and attain serenity. The power to scratch away their bitter present and draw a bright future. Let the children write. Let them write!
Look into the mirror,
Tell me what you see
Take your time, to see vividly
Do you see a scarred past
Or endless possibilities?
Your eyes teary, filled with shame
We don’t choose circumstance
Like roses don’t choose to have thorns
You are not to blame
Your mirror seems to be tainted,
Does it represent your heart
Or years of opportunities wasted
Only to be left torn apart?
But understand now,
There is always time for a fresh start
Criticize yourself progressively
You are your own audience
Every stepping stone is of significance
Success always starts with incompetence
Her thighs show trails to a sacred kingdom, a place where the man and woman are intertwined by peace and serenity. Where we celebrate unity and uniqueness all at once. Her back has mountains that lead you to rain forests of tranquillity. Where your transgressions are forgiven in the blink of an eye. Where you exhale adversity and inhale contentment coupled with joy.
Her chest carriers hills of nourishment, where lives are sustained. Rest your head now do not be afraid, as you hear her heart beat like the drums of the Masai. Her hair coiled and defies gravity. It grows to its unique shape. It embodies her strength. Like the Mopane tree its grows all year round, through summer and lets all its damaged leaves go in winter only to grow back stronger and healthier. She is one with nature.
Her silhouette draws the map to the cradle of humankind, where life came to be. She is the keeper of the womb, she gives life. Her skin is as dark as the ariona berry, its oozes confidence and the essence of beauty.She is a dime deep down in the mountains of the Congo, each part of her is significant in its own way. She aught to be cherished each and everyday.
Woman, you are worth every word in the dictionary, every star in the galaxy, every heart beat in the world only because you are a woman.
As I sit on my bed I write this to you with the feeling of triumph in my heart. I have planned and procrastinated and planned again to start a blog where I could share all my thoughts with the people of this world. If this was a letter I would then say, my pen is blooming in excitement, it cannot wait to share all my thoughts and philosophies. This a new beginning for me, a time filled with so much positivity. Writing has become very therapeutic to me, it exudes a sense of calmness to it. No matter how angry you are a pen and paper to write away your sorrows, it becomes your safe haven.
Join me in this journey of growth as I will share with you all that I think in all forms of writing, whether it be a diary entry, a poem, or just jotting down on a piece of paper. I cannot wait to share all that I have with you.