Songs of Anisha
“Do Not Be Shocked,”
by Oluwatoyosi Agbaakin
There’s plenty therapy
in my dirty herbs.
Stranger!
do not be offended
that this black pot brews
a broth of creamy, white pap.
Do not be shocked
that my blood is red;
and my sole is blonde.
the sun has stained my skin
black with melanin.
but my face is a widow
with an ebony sigh;
you will stumble upon gems
when you poke the humus deeper.
I am prey in the jungle of history
where antelopes frown at the tale
leaping from lips of a wild cat.
how shall I write my story?
when they ploughed the land
with their Imperial tongue;
and weeded my florid dialects
their tales are twisted tubers.
they have burnt my tongues
inside steamy, bubbling cauldrons
of white instructions.
But I too have my forte;
and when the day
is terrified by the night
my frame announces itself
with a shadow well differentiated
in the towering darkness;
I glow in the legend of Hercules
that strangulates the Nemean lion
on a path to home.
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