Dear black man

Dear Black Man,

You are loved.

You are good enough.

Even when your shoulders droop

from all the baggages the world throws at you,

you still crack a smile.

When people pour buckets of sand on your wound,

you never let them hear you wince.

Everyday they continue to label

and put chains on you

but you refuse to stay down.

Dear black man,

I see your innate ability

to protect everyone you love.

I see all the different masks

you have to put on the moment

you step outside your door.

I see your struggle in the battlefield,

fighting off ideals and paradoxes

of who you are and who you would like to become.

I am here for and with you.

I cannot heal your wounds,

that can only come from within you.

But I can hold your hand through your pain.

I can sing with you, war songs and all.

I can wipe off your tears when you cry.

'Ah A Girl'.

(Birth)

The first time you came out

of your Mother’s womb

the Earth fell on her feet.

The Heavens close their eyes

and weeped for days.

The Antevasin had arrived

The One who

was stuck
in between borders.

Like a tired passenger in

the airport waiting

for his luggage at Arrival,

your father folded his arms

and watched you slide

down from your mother.

Born at 06:19 am on a friday;

A mother’s little bundle of joy

and a father’s silent sigh...

'Ah a Girl'.

(Adulthood)

You grew into a flower

that refused to whither.

Your hair thick like the forest

your family's tree stemmed from.

Each strand like a branch

coiled from the root to the tip

refusing to bow to the standards of men.

At 19 your skin shined like polished wood.

Men forgot how to pronounce your name. 
Instead they referred 
to you as their cravings - chocolate, 

black coffee, butterscotch,

brown sugar, oroe.

You became an assortment for 
them to taste.  
A to do list for the

ones trying to explore.

Who said you were allowed to be

anything order than the black

that they painted you as?

Day and night,

you are reminded of

the walking juxtaposition

that you are.

A preacher’s worst nightmare,

a sinners sweetest dream

and a bigot’s biggest fear.

You are nothing but a stain,

an error born by mistake.

Who told you

that you were any different?

Look at you!

A mad mans’ little witch!

One day, he too will pack up

and leave you.

For you are too bold

you are too quick

Your accent

and thighs are too thick

the walls you built are too high

You are too proud

Your ego is in the sky

and 'Men do not like that'.