My sister,
On her face is a smile that burns,
In her eyes are tears that runs.
Above her head, emotions that clouds
In mind, silent voices,
Yet, so loud.
My sister,
Her skin smells like blood.
Her lips taste like salt.
Her heart feels like the flow of flood,
Itself without a halt.
In Tokyo, she's schoolgirl.
In Tobago, she's shopgirl.
In Mexico, She's choirgirl
In Puerto Rico, she's papergirl
In Kosovo, She's copygirl
In Africa, she's homegirl.
©Madinah_Writes
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Fragrance From A Black Flower
Poetry#1 in blackpoets This collection of poems is intended to give some account of the conditions in which African oral poets produce their works, and the audiences to which they address themselves. However, even the most summary account of this topic is...
