Tell Me Mother

What is the colour of beauty? What are the lines that mark her forms? They said, ‘you are a boy from a bush tribe’ They said, ‘you are a child of an ugly mother’ Child, said mother Tell them my naked scars are streaks of splendor My marred face is a mirror of our whooping world Tell them that these worn out feet of healed bruises Speak sweetly of staggering triumphs And raked the swamps in tireless search of logs Tell them my palms stiffened by seared drudgery, Fought on the fraying field to give you your today My hoarse throat towered down hate and prejudice These are the garlands of our beauty For you who drink the sweet waters of our sweats The fresh water of liberty borne by tears Who turn our mind’s misery to monuments And turn our troubles to tributes To you we throw the torch and pass the baton That you also may break the records And beat the heights we climbed