Who Am I
Exhales, crackles and gasps ,
jumping hairs and sickening visions as the wind whistled pass;
a quiet question knocks the door of my mind, who am I?
Picture me in a yellow sun dress, head up, confident and proudly African.
I sway effortlessly through a field of red roses with my nigro hair struggling to flow in the dry wind.
I looked happy with my wide black nose glistening in the solar heat.
Above me was a clear blue sky with floating mushroom clouds ready to pop and
a sun peeping through, like God’s eye on man.
I inhaled the dry dusty harmattan breeze, laid back on the dark brown soil and watched black kites fly,
then, a thunder rumbled in a distance and it began to rain.
The rain washed the colour off the flowers, turned the sky grey.
I was left running to find a cave, but everywhere was open, and nowhere to stay,
so I let the drops of acidic rain, turn me white and my identity fades.
Copyright © Deborah Dambani | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment