My ancestors' struggle deluges my pigmentation turning it dark
Their tears water the pasture of knotted copper-wire upon my dome
Their plea for dignity is the collagen that fills my lips
Each sorrowful breath they took plumps my nostrils and before He, whose skin is pale, feeds me bullets I wish to take off my skin made of black.
As I look into His barrel I stand strong, unwaveringly because
although my ancestors' light sinks into the horizon their resolve strengthens me
And hope stems from the cracks of my mental oppression
Resilience shoots from my core when I realise God dwells in the matter that blackens me
That's why they fear me
Pride becomes me
Finally freedom finds me caressing my skin made of black
And for every kitchen worked & land ploughed, every drop of blood & sweat may we have a lifetime of prosperity. Amen.