AFRO-TRESS

Francis Otole

AFRO-TRESS

I, a daughter, sister, wife and mother, The one crowned with taboo, Still, bound in shackles of tradition. I can only be seen, my voice can't be heard.

I, a woman, more less human; The one caffeinated as men's stimulant, As well, chocolated for children suckling. I carry the menstrual stigma.

I am the one with the fertile womb, Whose heart bleeds of mortal wound. I am the woman with bubbling passion Who endures the moon cycle of polygamy.

I am the voiceless Queen, The one confined to the kitchen. I am the strong and hearty, The one bedridden for sex.

I am the female specimen, The one they test their semen. I am Africa, the one called tropical For taking all the heat.

I am the budding teen; The one betrothed against my will, The one with no right to study, The one cursed with multiple labour.

I am the Rose denied of sunlight, Trampled by shades of iroko, obeche and baobab of tradition.

(C)2019 .Francis Otole