A teen-age to nineteen.

I have learnt how to hold my sin
with my name bold artery,
Like  epistle I wrote my broken story
with the droplet of my tears.

My heart beat faster like gong of a church,
I harvested  moonlight folktale
into apartment of astray with my memories
scattered like collapse castle in Othrando.

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I carried the sky on my head with
my father’s name written within a stunt,
Like  vessel of  darken clutter, my body
stray in  revolutionary dirt of a black boy.

I wrote a crest on my chest like gospel
of my mother’s ancient prophecy,
I waited behind the picture of my mother
hanged in my darken body, expressing art through her portrait.

AFRIKAPOET

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