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By Yolanda Lindsay Mabuto

Friday, August 12, 2011.




Ebony haze shimmers over my body- over my bones

Distant ancestors speak of past and future birthstones.

My roots whisper through my veins, through my hair

My lips, my eyes, my hips- secrets from my African heir.

Royal, defined, unique yet tamed

-My heritage has painted its craft on my mane-"Beautiful" I... have been named.

Echoes of a sensual tone leak from my voice

a perfect note- stern yet soft, mixed like alloys

voice of a beautiful woman-

a beautiful black woman.

Soaked in the grace of my kind-

beauty has been re-defined.

I'm black and i'm beautiful.

My black is beautiful.


War Child

History of violence haunts our present
the struggle of wills has tortured our judgement.
Footprints remain in the heart of our soil- this battle sand
Trails of sadness from the souls of Iraq and Afghanistan
From the Great War of Africa and the remains of Vietnam
We continue to walk with rifles, grenades and merciless bombs.
We still have not learnt- from what they did-what they gave
That those footsteps led to their grave
Death of peace and resurrection of destruction-
Dried wounds speak through small calibre ammunition-
AK-47, M16 and soldiers
Who would want all that sadness?
Tears soak the surface of this earth
Hatred has awakened and given birth-
To a War child- still birth Child of death
Is war what our children are worth?
The fate of - armed conflict both love and hate-
Troops of mourning await asylums gate.
We kill ourselves- we kill our children
Swept with the drought of peace and we nourish guilty famine.
Death of peace such hypocrisy
Since when was love the enemy
The World has failed to tame the horror
We breathe in fire - we live in terror
Paths of the past can be erased and made new
But we continue to fight- we continue to refuse
Raiding people, battling for independence
Instead we flood our territory with shameful sickness
Sickness that only calls out for vengeance
War zones lurk everywhere in silence
Every age has had its war every age has felt deathly violence
What happened to the balance where's our conscience.
Tears soak the surface of this earth -Hatred has awakened and given birth-
To a War child- still birth Child of death -Is war what our children are worth?
Peace plan Its time we understand
That we are torn apart by enemies - such times harm families-
The arms of this world have grown long yet cold
And every weapon unfolds- A need to remove our battle masks to clean underneath these clothes -These blood stained clothes of war we are now exposed
Let us all stand by the doors of unity let us join hands to embrace what follows
This day, this year the doors of war should forever remain closed.

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