My Intellect
Let it not be seen through eyes of judgment and
hypocrisy,
For my skin is merely just my skin, roasted or not,
It could never define what lies within, be it a little
or a lot,
Nor could the way my tongue chooses to
pronounce these words, no,
These words foreign to me after all,
My mother tongue is who I truly am,
How I want to be seen as I stand,
I stand out because of my blood-line,
My predecessors,
My not so humble, beginnings,
My ancestors; Nyawuza! Faku! Ziqelekazi!
So look a man like i in the center of his eyes,
Open that narrow gate to your mind's eye
And see me not just as you hear me
Not by the contrasted, manner with which I choose
to verbalize,
But by the grounded manner with which I make
you visualize what I say,
In that manner known to me, known to you,
See me like that,
Do judge me like that,
For substance is what I am, who I am,
Rich; how I define my intellect,
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