Posted in poetry



A name,
A description, 
A discrimination,
They shall place you in Roads.
An insult to what’s left of our veins.

We were born not of our choosing,
But our luck,
We are black people.

In their eyes 
Storm clouds we stand to be,
Stares of judgement,
Holding hatred and disgust alike.

But look at them,
Their skin as soft as a roses kiss on a winters night,
Do not be frittled,
After all,
not all that glitters is gold.
Because when you grow closer,
It will draw blood and triumph in your pain.

To use us,
Then punish for not a fault we have committed,
Who do you think you are?

Dear child,
You see wrong in the way i look,

You see wrong in the way may hair falls not below my waist.

You see wrong in the way my skin shines underneath the blazing kisses of the sun.

To me nothing could ever be more right.

So listen to me
And the words that i speak, 
For i promise they come from the heavens.

When God was creating his imperfect baby,
He made her with beauties that most can not fathom.

The African child,
We will stand for it no longer,
the criticism.
You strip us of our rights?
Where has your Humanity betaken to?
Your ways i shall not take to heart for that is not who i was raised to be. I come from overcomes, a true definition of strength.

I am the African child
Proud and now free!
Never have i asked for your opinions 
Nor do your assumptions hold value.
Please do bite your tongue
This is just food for thought.




But let’s not forget,



A poet wise enough to perceive, the world can never be changed but dense enough to still seek the unattainable.... Kudzai Chidamba.

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