It’s not easy these days,
to find a woman with royal ways.
A queen with an Afrocentric self worth,
and a mind full of the gems of the earth.
But when all hope seemed gone,
I found her at the break of dawn.
Stood with her hips wrapped in kente fabric,
my heart said ‘yes’ and my hands ‘I gotta have it’.
The road to hell is paved,
with good intentions never saved.
And so it seems our affair has reached,
a winter of discontent that can’t be breached.
The once joyful present is now marching,
toward a distant past, with my soul left starving.
The hurt you caused that I restored,
seems lost in your spring mission to go ignored.
A million slain,
shot with peace in their veins,
the inconsolable pain,
freedom handcuffed in chains.
Men are dying young kings,
women are slain with Asata wings,
life cut short before hope springs,
families left behind with soulless things.
Her spirit was like rum to me,
a golden kaleidoscope of wisdom and beauty,
with a disclaimer that read ‘handle responsibly’.
From the moment I saw her, I knew I had to be wary,
a slim thick frame with a skin tone as sweet as black cherry,
I approached her confidently and she introduced herself as ‘Mary’.
‘Mary St Claire’ to be exact,
harnessing an essence of beauty, no man could subtract,
she was an Afrocentric woman I had to tie down to a long term contract.