By: Saffiatou Joof
I read it in The Alkamba Times Lamp.
I can sense the rims of my fingers freezing.
A blessed daughter of an African olive tree
A star of mind bedded with a glow of seeds.
A star of colors glorified by the rainbow lights
A star of skin glimpsed with the shea butter deems
While I kiss her tender neck out of splendor
As if I’m Christiano Ronaldo, who has
five times won the Ballon d’Or
Shall I tell you how I sense her in the darkness?
As her black skin causes an enormous eruption
I hope you will be forever faithful.
Hopes are being concealed, not high but guilt.
Africans in denial of the black skin tone war
That knuckles down to lower self-esteem
Respect the summer of peace in black worn.
As little as we might seem, a lure shining core
That refreshes the conclusion of confidence in her skin.
Taking the lead in the black bonding touch
Fat lips and roll-up eyeballs with thick hips
That testifies to the true proud African rocket tool.
These members wave stars in the skies,
Her members are not found with red-brown eyes.
Whose immense beauty manifested in the Island
Black women have a distant history yet are humble.
With a modeling root of sweetness in her flute
Like newly harvested grains in a weed field
Where can I find her fingertips?
At the North Pole of Africa up hills
Or on the West Coast in the bottomless sea,
Where she glimpses pursuing her purest dream
Where can I touch her shiny black skin?
Thirsty wide eyes, beautiful black pearls
Whose voice can humble any human race?
And raise a man 360 degrees of stress.
Then unify the whole globe in one slot of sleep.
She resembles the good smell of a coconut tree.
For any man that beats his chest promises
It’s like a lost aroma on the premises,
A belief that black women are the pure fruits of peace,
That turns a bitter mold of mint sweet.
That cools down a depressed man’s soul.
That lost the deeper scents of his breath with roses.
My African letter. I hope that you rate this poem better.