The glorious black, a curious glow
A look into the past, I do want to go.
Over to the days we had our parts,
A division so united, beauty in our cracks.
Heads full of hair, like halos, a crown.
Standing strands, which built nations.
Walls deeply rooted in unity,
Everlasting purity.
The foreign iris discovering new markets
And the glorious black is now its target.
Then the thought starts to linger,
No need to argue with a cross at the tip of his finger.
New tongues, new songs
Clear reflection, clear deception
Looks in our pools no longer needed
With a stand on my stool you’ll see we have been defeated.
Nightly errands and I am finally done,
Too late, my people are already gone
Strange silence in the glorious black too loud
With their “breathtaking” ships
Waves of the passage seized.
Terror of thousands over and in
Long hairs now down to skin
Gone is the tender warmth of the glorious black,
Dusty breaths not as much as before
My halo, my crown, is falling to the ground.
Blood stains over cotton
Tearing flesh, locked up lips.
Weighing chains, bulging veins.
Voices that never got the chance to be heard.
Soon the world is depressed,
Yearns for the once glorious black
Instable peace and no possible fixes for this basket of tears.
A horror lurking,
Not yet forgotten.
The broken black
With beauty, hidden in our cracks.
- By Nwauzor Chimdindu.
