The darker the berry the sweeter the juice,
My skin faultless even with these cuts and bruise,
Enchanted and unblemished all around the grid,
My skin magical for I’m a special breed.
And in the sun my juicy melanin sparks,
My native afro scorches and tans,
I loosen my bantu knots and let my dreads fall,
To give me shade and hide my face-walls.
In the grasslands I am a free lad with a crown,
Take the lead as my servants trail up and down,
Stiffen my shole so it doesn’t get puffed by the wind,
And scare away the wild ones trying to take my sheep.
My sons and daughters are all strong and grown,
Ingenious and able to live on their own,
Ailment and illness to us is a falsification
For never in my life have I had any medication.
All good and seamless until rolling-snowball-heads came,
To trade my perfect culture for diseases and chaotic social
lives,
They envy my complexion and wish they had my perfection,
Tho’ despising but truly they’ll never take away my God
given precision.
Improve your brain capacity. Play this game.
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