These jagged streets stare at me like shattered glass that
Begs to razor its way into my gut.
Shards of the skulls of the freedom seekers before me
Gather at my feet and muffled echoes fill the still air of Afrikan
Skies.
I am not running. I am wading through the thickness of hatred that surrounds
Me.
I am hair follicle deep in the misinformed hate peddle that floats from mouth
To mouth in the huts of fear.
When homosexuality is on the cards, My Afrika becomes a village.
Hate becomes the chief.
The uneducated become the messengers.
The ill-informed become executioners.
Government seeks to see me in the gallows for my existence.
I exist therefore I am a criminal.
Afrika fears my love.
I am a tumour in your brain. You cannot cut me out without
Leaving a hole in your own head.
I am a part of your core. Without me you are incomplete.
Swallow your fear and embrace difference,
Only then will you know growth and peace.
In your belly you have grown gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender
Children.
They have transformed your life for the better.
They have given you love that you never thought was possible.
And yet here we are, taking a hammer to their brow.
Please be reminded that we tend to hate in others what we
See in ourselves.
So look into yourself, Afrikan soul. What is it that burns you
About your children that love differently?
Frank Malaba © 2013
Frank Malaba Prosetry 