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She’s just tired and scared of walking home alone,
Stepping outside in the dark is among her greatest threats,
Honestly, she is afraid that any day she opens the doors and windows,
might be her last,
A hint of death in the icy breath of the gale.

Every rustle in the nearby bushes sounds like a predator in search of her flesh and blood,
Also; every set of footsteps behind and around her is frightening,
She is utterly detached from all segments life,
An inexplicable and uselessly cruel caprice of fate.

At the wake of dawn, she will be trembling, fumbling, heart pounding,
Her afternoons do feature clumsiness, muddled thinking, short breath and her vision blurring.
Sweating, screaming, mumbling, anxiety, depression, lack of motor control, insane thoughts, and lack of motion wouldn’t let her be every night,
A fathomless depth of suffering.

She is just tired of carrying herself with less dignity,
Every now and then, people do stare at her with less respect,
Could it mean that she was an incomplete human?
She is tired of holding her breath until she is behind her closed doors.

She is really tired of those uptown and uncivilized men,
Who normally walk into her residence in search of her for a quickie,
They want to have a taste of her.

Half choked by a rising paroxysm of rage,
All her scattered impulses are gathered into a passionate act of courage,
Today, she tells them with steel in her voice, fire in her eyes and iron her spine,
“Please, you need to leave. I’m not a harlot and have no relationship with you".
And when they look shocked, like an ant caught in a cobweb,
She get heated because they were expecting a scared and vulnerable little damsel,
Instead they got a strong, bold and fearless African girl,
Because she is nothing if not,
tough and well-built human to challenge intimidation and fight inferiority complex.

She is an African girl,
With an intense and insatiable hunger for light and truth,
Ready to embrace with ardor the prospect of serene leisure,
And must think like a man and act like a lady,
She was not built like other girls from other races,
She was never soft and malleable,
Because she was forced to forge her own path to succeed in life,
Loving or hating her by society,
At peace or war,
It can’t break or make her,
She was self made and that is just it.


A Stewart Chekiri Everestus's poem © 2019
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