IN SAUDI OUR SISTERS VEIL THEIR BLACK PORES WITH MISERY

In a small town between Riyadh and Jeddah
there is an African damsel
whose pigmentation is refashioned to be a diacritic
-of a dignity made only a sordid aftertaste.

At nights when it is dewy and moist,
with lentil soup she worships her Stenographer Rayiys1
before later on her spiritual core is puritanically cleansed by him;
an act to punish her blackness he explains.

On the back patio which she is tasked to lave constantly,
in its depths if you were to become an archaeologist,
I doubt you would find the corpse of an Arab Matriarch
and not the black one of a predeceasing damsel.

Also every day before her five hours of sleep
she says a very short prayer;
‘if you are not to save me from ostracization lord!
at least when I die make me a Taita2

bird
so that once more I can set eyes on my father’s land;
so that one more time he can feed me his grains.’

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A PANTOUM OF FRECKLES

I look at the freckles in my mother’s face,
as the macules speak to me;
‘You don’t need broken, You need strength’,
I bloom into the flowering of a generation.

As the macules speak to me,
I become a cascade of inquisition
I bloom into the flowering of a generation
-a wisdom that speaks out.

I become a cascade of inquisition
I look at the freckles in my mother’s face,
-a wisdom that speaks out
‘You don’t need broken, you need strength’.

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[1] Arabic name for boss/employer

[2] A region in Kenya

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Poems © Frank Njugi
Image: Ellery Sterling Unsplash (modified)