You are a drone. Seeking to please your queen bee.
I am the orchid whose nectar you steal.
You are a thirsty thresher. Gathering a bundle for your master.
I am the sickle you swing with a splintered cracked handle.
You are a maggot. Eating shit to live.
I shit your sustenance.
I am the modern man. So uninterested in pleasing you.
Yet you cling to my excrement to find yourself flushed in the toilet
Of a past that masks no shame.
I am the gay man you don’t want to see,
That is black, unrepentant and snug in his own skin.
Does my honesty burn you?
Yes. I possess an opaque soul that is permeated by a glimmer of Redemption.
My specs of darkness celebrate my pending enlightenment.
I rise up everyday with a renewed vision for my oppressed continent.
Yet you seek to keep the blanket of darkness
Over the floundering African identity.
Who do you want me to be, pray tell?
Is my humanity inadequate to you?
I guess there aren’t jars big enough to preserve me in brine for your study.
Until then, I walk among you as one of you.
Building, not demolishing, for I am unlike you who uproots
Where he has not planted.
My voice shall not be muffled by your inadequate print.
My voice shall reach far beyond your masturbation of words
That fail to fertilise an interested ear.
Your words are sweet but quickly forgotten,
Like candy floss that falls on a tongue and melts to nothing.
I am all man. I am beautiful. I am wanted and relevant.
I am hope to an oppressed breed of the human race on your bleeding piece
I, I, I am the face you will see when you confront your fears.
Yes, I am opaque. Uncouth by choice, cultured by design.
Yes I am opaque. Loving and living in this space and time.
Yes I am opaque. Breathing your oxygen and putting it to good use.
Yes I am opaque. But brilliantly so.
Yes I am opaque. And I am about to change your world forever.
Who and what are you?
Frank Malaba © 2011