Poem Title: Son of a black mother
Where we hunt animals for food.
An adoring place with less technology,
But, that doesn't limit my ideology.
I have melanin so, I'm black,
Like charcoal, the pigment I inherit.
Mobility is what I lack,
But my oblongata is sensitively right.
Come, follow me to my village,
Traditionally, let me show you my lineage;
How we dine and wine with calabash,
How we prepare a meal by burning wood to ash.
I'm the son of a black mother
I was trained to be natural.
I'm an African, I didn't indulge murder,
I'm to remain cultural.
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