From the falling razor-rays of the African sun I’m untaught; I’m a bare foot traveler whom his edification lies in the blur caving rocks and wells of African canals.
I’m born under the falling sky colored with blood shed by those who stamped hard earth to voice their birth right ownership.
I’m a fired hill whom their black beauty is starvation to adventurer and hibernated
I’m stung by vermin beasts and processed within poisons of revolution,
My skin maps all the places I’ve traveled; it curves all caves I sheltered in,
My ear drums store all the melodies of weeping Africa, falling and ascending,
They store the silence of confused newly born and freshly deceased
My ear drums have captured the silence of my loud heart beats, and running thoughts escaping unlined death.
My indigenous voice have uttered silence vowels to predator as my flesh approaches the speared digestions of hungered
My voices have spoken in foreign tongues to call the dead
Only my voice can pronounce sounds of rising and falling nature,
Here I ink, no African beats me…..
I am an African