Black is the colour of my little brother’s intellect, the gray streaks in my mother’s hair. Black is the color of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards upon my neighbor’s wrinkled encounter…if tomorrow’s black poetry will not likely Make clear what on earth is but BE it then pens might be electrical with sensation igniting along with the
my eyes took your slender fingers & dreamed on them, they thinned creativity to the queen known as sheba/nefertiti deeming you royalness/making a fetish of one's hand…As you could see, each line prospects up for the cap, the final just one. And the last assertion is predicated on a truth that all Blacks know.To perspective this movie make sure yo
Inside our progressively disposable society, poetry waves the flag of permanence. It musters memory versus the onslaughts of ephemera.if tomorrow’s black poetry won't Clarify what exactly is but BE it then pens are going to be electrical with feeling igniting and also the paper shall turn out to be the poet and also the poets shall be earth-cloud