It’s a funny thing to learn about your own people from something a white man has written. Like everyone in the world knows what it is to be truly African, except you. Like it’s a damn conspiracy. Still, it was important to at least display a yearning to connect with the motherland especially if it only cost 24,99.
So here she was standing in line, clutching her identity in the form of The traditional African art of Zimbabwe by Henrik Ellert as though it were a shield. Whoever the no doubt, blonde haired blue eyed Henrik Ellert was, he was…
I hadn’t meant to do it. Didn’t even really think anything would happen. Not until the blade went in and it had felt like…medium rare steak — soft and stubborn at the same time, just enough resistance. I really hadn’t meant for it. I was only trying to scare him a little and, yeah, maybe hurt him…a little. And he had just looked surprised. Then it was as if he was annoyed with me, staring at my hand, then at me and then at the hand again, holding it as if we were simply exchanging a tender moment between husband…
You are older, much
Older than me.
It’s true this means you
Know best, worlds I
Still will traverse. But
Still it means for
One day you’ll be weak and small where you
Were Atlas, guiding
Where your arms were a dwelling cave
Keeping in all that was warm and light
Darkness, cold, strife
One day playful forgetfulness at leisure will
Surely turn to a mind I cannot reach or
A heart closed to hope, with peace
A mere surrender to time and the next anchor
Of a race we shall win no more
Than we shall note Sun’s final
A musician and a writer. I long for a time when I will have the leisure to lie still under a great oak tree and listen to all the stories it has to tell.