IQRAA ( READ!)

  FLY HIGH The older I get! The more I think, You only get a minute Better live while you’re in it, ‘Cos it’s gone in a blink Some of us can’t sleep, Others wish it’s just a dream And somebody like me, I’m fucked up in this shit The older I get The truer it is, ‘It is the people you love’ Not the money and stuff, That makes you rich Heaven isn’t far from you Heaven won’t reject you What I learnt from you, Has been kindness, love and everything good We will keep on tilling, In what you believed in We will keep your dream, Fresh and green The older I get The longer I pray I don’t know why I guess that I Have more to say Till we meet…Tilly Till we meet, Thank you for the memories. B.Y.E. 21 MAY 7 Rest well Matilda, your kindness exceeds our words.🌹   

  THE MOUNTAIN WE CLIMB Source @godkingguyanese She is the vine She is divine She is the rhyme, Keeping us strong and alive She is our eternal life, Wondrous as the heavenly signs She has been designed to be pretty and bad for our dark nights She is curvy as sixty-nine She is our sweet and holy wine Whatever, she is the mountain we climb She is our blacksmith, Forging us into warm plain sheets She is maternity, Delivering us onto white bedsheets With her efforts, we’ve become malleable, Processed into something valuable She is our holy ground, Our firm background The mountain we climb Drinks in the sun’s rays She vomits out its beauty, Splattering melanin across her skin Our supreme being, Got the swag and drip She shoulders everything inside Indeed, she’s the mountain we climb We are like Jack and Jill, Tumbling down into her valley We really have no stamina Stopping us from her pretty phenomena Our mountain is under

  MOTHER’S DAY Source @blackarchives She loved a lot in her time, A blessing to many souls She even stood in the shadows, In order for others to shine She is the prettiest flower, In God’s garden of love After today, You won’t see them again that’s how they- Celebrate their mothers on this day When the soul leaves her body, You shall see them rushing with wreaths Penning down all sorts of tributes, With lesser truth in it Meanwhile, when she was alive, They saw her as a witch A thorn in their skins, Irritating like an itch To the nipples that fed me, To the hands that caressed me To the arms that sheltered me, To the eyes that stared at me I engrave nothing but blessings, On your hard works. B.Y.E. 21 JANUARY 24

  EMBODIMENT🍒 Muse@ Sandradonkor Perhaps you’ve not been informed, That you are way better than porn Perhaps you have not been told, That your beauty can’t be sold You are an embodiment of beauty and black essence Your rich sediment, Confuses and seduces men You glow like an ointment, Even in the darkest of darkness You are a stable element, In any kind of segment Made of honey We call you ebony Sweet on the tongue You are the Big Bang Heavenly Body, We come to your renowned religion Shelter us like you always do, Feed us with laughter not blues Her hair is the crown, Which she never brings down In the land of the depressed, She is a mighty monument She is our sacred object, In fact, an embodiment Perhaps you have not been informed, That you are way better than porn Perhaps you have not been told, That your beauty can’t be sold. B.Y.E. 21 MAY 3

  BLUES 4 MAMA Source @ afrocentricfilmscollaborative She is the name on everyone’s lips, She turns men lame once she strips She keeps us neat and clean, Like her crocheting pins When she kneels, God, you know what I mean Her skills are sure visible, Just as her meals - edible Her beauty is startling, Bubbling in a chocolate fountain Her looks are always charming, Despite their charms and harming She is the alarm, Waking us up She is our madam, Taking education as a World Cup Anyway, we choose her for breakfast, ‘Cos our worries do eat her up She is the sweet bissap , Tattooed on my tongue Every Ramadan, We wish her a better place in Jannah It is by the mercy of Allah, That mama gave us a son Someone like Kendrick Lamar, Someone like Essandoh Yunusah Aren’t we similar, Looking at how far we’ve come Her fragrance is incensed, Her ointments are our sweet bitters Yet through all these, Mama sees no peace Burnt palms,