When You Dig Me Out Poem by Gerald Ewa Ewa

When you dig me out of the belly of the earth,
I will be black as soot and unrefined.
Of course, my hair, thick and curly, will still rain down its unadulterated blackness.
And please, when you take out my tongue, don't cringe, because it will be the same: bold and audacious, cutting out, prunning if need be, and healing. And don't expect it to cower in silence at your threats any longer. I am proudly African.

When you scour my hands and feet,
you will find the soul of Africa; the history of the black man scourged from blood, tears, & hunger. You will find Africa's joy and hope.

When you dig me out,
my bones, fresh and white, will become a living portal, a road map, a shepherd leading every black man across the sea, bringing them all to their root.

When you finally dig me out,
I'll be here. At the Zambezi river, where my root will drink from mother nature's breast & in due season bear fruits for the earth.
Or on top of Kilimanjaro, looking into the distance. Waiting. Heralding the return of mother nature's lost children.
But if you don't find me in either if these places, then, I would be in the heart of the Ongoye forest. And my spirit, young and free, will be one with the earth.