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I would write to invite my children home.
Roll out the royal carpet,
Set off my drums,
Declare tribes to name each one beyond African Descent,
Wrap them in kente and feed them their roots.
Chant, dance, and then,
peacefully position them on my knee,
Preach about all my Kings and Queens.
Speak of Igbo, Yoruba, Zulu, Swahili---
until they comprehend.
Teach them to break chains,
Build circles of love between all men.
Tell them to proudly kiss their skin,
Show them my love is treasure,
Worth more than what my gold, oil, and diamonds could measure.
Show them I am more than ghettos and slums.
Poor of somethings,
But rich in spirits.
I am not just one of the large continents by sea.
I am home.
I am mother
that you should
feel, hear, and see.
DElegantOne
