African woman.

Ps: I wrote this poem in 2020. I have refused to modify it. Just read it and tell me what you think.

annie-spratt-yrzBgqapG1I-unsplash(0).jpg

Her smile melts the rock.
The white bright moon
amid dark clouds.
Her hands roughened with held pestle
Her waist moves with the broom,
Her legs testify to her endless excursions to the market.
Brave as a tigress when you hit her kids,
Mild as a dove when she cares for her kids
She is a hen that guards her chicks
Her back is a field of comfort for
the young ones.
In her, we see the germination of several generations.
She is never bored in praying for her seed's welfare.
We see her true African spirit, selfishness when it comes to her children
The milk which flows in her energizes our soldiers.
Her soft coarse hair is deepened with so many loads.
She allows herself to be condemned just so her kids will be praised.
In her, we see the true strength of emotions.
Her voice is always loud when she screams across the rivers,
Her hands do wonders in the house
Her musical voice drives my cranky self to peace
She is an excellent choice for humanity
She is an irreplaceable element of the universe
She is the shining gold that reflects light.
She is mother.
In her, Africa evolves and lives.

H2
H3
H4
3 columns
2 columns
1 column
Join the conversation now
Logo
Center