Poetry

PROFILE (a sketchy February)

Tell me again, what have you said about me?
Did you say I was the son of the sun?
I can hurt like your words,
I can even cry louder than your attention.
Today I met some of you
in a bottle, in a plate, in a mixture of juice and gin.
I can’t tell you that really defines me,
for all I did was love you out of love,
I cared like a Wednesday,
I endured you naively,
with truths that had no tribal marks.
This is who I am,
a black boy who learnt the truth only later,
who can fly
with his wings tied to his chest.
It is who I am.

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