Mother Is Dove

Modest woman moderate woman Your inner beauty strikes me Like the tongue of noble eloquence More than gold even refined gold Or our purged fulgent silver. Black woman proud woman Your pride is not haughty But a humble pride of eaglets; Your black eyes are so glittering As the eyes of our dark rivers Filled with messages of peace That banish the broody turmoil From those panting hearts Of your foreigned offsprings. Gentle mother diligent mother Your kindness kindles the fires Of my heart – Your dexterity dresses The table of our ageless history And the thought of your being – Oh kind mother! – Makes the most delicious menu For my heart. I remember your naked feet Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs Treading the invisible paths Almost covered by shrubs Small shrubs misted by the prime mist. I remember the wood from the wood The water from the water And manifold items from jungle alleys Borne by your delicate hands And upon your soft black-haired head. I remember the constant match To markets and to farms And your bright face smeared with The ash dust Making you more beautiful Than any woman whose feet Ever touched the naked earth. I remember those burdens Upon your cheerful kin-souls And babies strapped to your backs Babes full of unspoken words To unborn others in patient wombs Waiting in an endless turn – Indeed, mother is dove! A black dove and a dark huntress A hunter’s gift from the maker? Mother is like a weaver-bird Building a big foot-like nest Filled with corn and warmth A bundle of eagle-flight Mother is dove And the hunter calls her The clan’s eternal dove. Oh, mother loving woman Gentle as our black horizon To you we humbly come From these far and lonely lands Hoping to grace our love and beauty Before that jealous grave Makes her temporary feast.