Young West African Girl
If life’s a ball, you’re the belle
Skin like the inside of a cocoa seed
The bitterness that births something sweet.
How delicate are you
Yet you carry the whole worlds blues
Falling and swaying under the weight
Yet, you will never be a saint
Three wise men
Each with his own Pen
Sketching out the direction
To find his way to your reflection
It is the inevitable consequence
Of carrying light in your conscience
The world is unreasonably obsessed
With approaching your blessedness.
Though not to fan the embers
But to quench the fire
The fire that sits
In your core, at the junction of your heat.