Bushra Elsnousi
A pause and then there was color.
The feature that rubbed my descendants into survival,
in truth, brought an arrival.
The beginning of all captivity,
under the dark continent’s outreach.
Centre and four quadrants,
fifty four divisions,
and over a thousand tongues.
The motherland I love
is tough on her children.
She stands proud of us,
her dearly beloved.
Her weak link in the family
feeds her graceful humility.
And once every while
a flower blooms in her garden,
so pretty.
And I, her son,
across the face of the earth,
will never let go of
the land of all birth.
She spat me unfree,
as she delivered me to her roots,
and laid down the divine decree.
Not an act of man would diminish
the rare earthly quality
of my people;
If we are not stable,
we’re still able
to spread the kindness of the flowing rivers,
passing through us, through the land of our ancestors,
in meaning and fresh-in flesh,
to the coming tomorrows.
One day, when all is said and done,
the book of love will be written,
and the highest honorary mention
will bring an affirmation-never sought,
to the land that had brought
everything!