On a beautiful night, when the Stars twinkles, when the African Night breeze blows with a beautiful smell of freedom, the moon blossomed in the dark, and her light reflected the image of her beauty, but her shadow was was a mirage of freedom. The closer she came to the streams of being true, the more she fails to touch the waters.
Looking deep into the Mirror, all she sees, is a broken image, love ain't existing, clouded thoughts, fake angels flying.
Could God be in existence, her tradition and culture is to her disadvantage, the white man's Christianity misinterpreted by theology says, she has no voice within her faith. She's seen lust instead of love, faced rejection and dejection, she's been marginalised to the kitchen and the other room. Her song is played on a low key, she is limited to just a neck in the body but carriers a heavy head. Her heart burns with the fire of grief, her soul is condemned to hell. When she strikes to feed her family she is called a whore, being her self is seeing a goal and been told its impossible to score because of gender. She has been made to believe that she is born to be a first lady not a president, she is tagged a sex tool not an impact tool. She feels broken, because the church feels so religious to talk about sex education knowing she is at the receiving end of every assault. Educating her was is waste of time, so they thought, yet, she's drawing attention without a pencil. as she sits on the hills of Kagoro, she wonders if there will ever be a tomorrow, but the longer the horror. Now she screams from her heart, "wake me up from this nightmare". But it is reality, it is Africa's perception about her now with a tap I said to her it is morning, the sun is shining, you're strong, you are woman, you are KEKYAWA!
Give women their place.
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741