I am African

There is a beauty in being African
that time cannot tarnish,
a radiance rooted deeper than soil,
older than empires of gold.
It walks in boldness 
shoulders squared to the sun,
laughter ringing loud and unashamed,
a voice that speaks truth
even when the world begs silence.
This boldness is not noise;
it is the courage to dance where others mourn,
to dream where others doubt.
Confidence runs through these veins
like the Nile, steady and eternal.
It crowns the woman tying her wrapper,
knowing queens whisper in her blood.
It lifts the young man’s chin 
heir of warriors, builders, and griots 
carrying centuries in his stride.
We do not shrink.
We remember.
Strength lives here,
not brittle, but supple as palm trees in storm.
It is the grandmother rising before dawn,
tilling soil and planting stories.
It is the father carrying tomorrow
on a back that refuses to break.
It is the youth walking miles for knowledge,
turning hardship into fire.
This strength sings.
It celebrates.
It endures with joy.
And oh, the ebony beauty 
skin like midnight polished by the first dawn,
glowing warm under every sun.
A beauty that does not fade
but ripens, deepens, glows.
See the silver threads in elder hair,
woven like wisdom from the ancestors.
See the laugh lines carved by lives fully lived,
the posture still regal,
the eyes still bright with unspoken galaxies.
This beauty ages with grace
because it was never only flesh 
it is soul carved from centuries,
dignity wrapped in melanin,
legacy worn as crown.
To be African
is to carry rivers in your blood,
savannah fire in your spirit,
and baobab roots beneath your feet.
It is to move with rhythm older than memory,
to shine without permission,
to stand tall in the shadow of giants.
Here, boldness is birthright,
confidence is inheritance,
strength is song,
and beauty ripens with time 
richer, wiser,
eternally, gloriously African.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

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