pearls around the neck 117
I am Africa”,
he proclaims.
His belonging
resounding
on his tongue,
echoed
by his
hue.
I absorb
the thick air.
The dusty
night
sticking in
my throat,
the familiar sky
tugging at
my eyes.
He surveys me,
the pale alien
who dares to call
his country -
her home.
What may I claim?
Who am I
whom,
while so far away,
imagines the crunch
of thorny thicket
underfoot?
Envisions
late noon storms,
smells the rain
and
summer soot
Who dreams
in a language
born on African
soil?
Who am I
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