Black

There is something about black.
Something deep, solid, and steep
Something intensely beautiful.

It is to me a symbol of my own rebellion.
A rebellion against stigma,
A rebellion against insecurities, hypocrisy and caged black souls.
It is pride perfected in absolute charm,
Glossed in grace and dipped in solitude.

Black is beautiful, not sad.
It liberates me and connects me to an emptiness filled with love, hope and freedom,
Like the dark night illuminated by shimmering dotted stars.

I see it in cold, teary eyes of a broken child for its there that joy and strength rebirths.

I wore black again today, proudly upped my sleeves and my skin leaped with joy at the feel of that fabric hugging and caressing it.
It has an effect on me that makes me feel blacker.

It spells to me 'absence'
An absence of a bitter history of 2000 years of persecution, suffering and slavery,
And a destined dream of bravery and victory.

It's in the Kenneth Kaunda's, the Nelson Mandela's, Desmond Tutu's, Kofi Anan's, and Barack Obama's of our era and in that little voice at the back of our minds that whispers "you are worth every black diamond and everything more".

There is nothing to mourn about black
Really,there isn't.
Black is life
It's not bondage or shame,
It's a symbol of greatness typified in everyone of us,
Diamonds in the rough,
It is beauty refined.
Embrace your blackness child of the soil,
You are beautiful!!