Nkirote2021/04/03 03:49

This is a poem about a woman, her beauty and stregth.


To paint her soul,

she holds a brush.

Her feet tremble and

there's a crash.

Through the itchy pitchy heart

full of trash,

her destiny is hidden

and betwixt a eyelash

beauty fades in seconds.

She is a brand of brass,

on the grass.

She paints her dress


She wants the world

to see her flawless,

but she's a soul lifeless.

This woman is a fighter.

She sees the darkest brighter.

She is a super creature.

Her dark skin is richer,

in the view of nature.

She's not a bleacher,

of her destiny and future.

Her steps a measure,

black her pleasure.

She's a love preacher.

Her blood pressure,

is the world's treasure.

She's prone

to think alone

yet the crown

is not only her own,

but for the Universe.

Honor to her passion,

hail black creation,

love for her imperfection,

salute to her motivation.


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