Ask The Black Man

Ask a black man about the color of the sun 
And he'll tell you it's golden 
He'll tell you that the stars have a light switch 
And his melanin eyes regulate their intensity 
He'll tell you that the sky is a mix of different colors 
Synoymous to the ankara he rocks on a daily 
He'll tell you that the moon knows him and it calls him by name 
The crescent is a fence he sits on 
The mountains will shake hands with his imagination as he dreams 
Ask a black man about beauty 
The lines on his forehead will smile 
The very smile he wears when the keeper of his heartbeat walks by 
He'll tell you that her waistline makes the sun shine brighter 
And when she speaks 
Every other voice hides itself 
He'll tell of her skin 
That it needs no foreign cream because it is Vaseline unto itself 
He'll tell of her thighs 
That they are soft just like her earlobes 
But then strong 
Firm enough to hold his fears together 
A glimpse of her is the exact equivalent of oxygen he needs per day 
Ask a black man about music 
The first thing he thinks of is a talking drum
Because his voice is good a melody enough 
The chipping birds would join him in singing
And the trees would dance 
As the branches shake boredom from off their shoulders 
Ask a black man about hope 
He'll tell you it sleeps safely in the dimples of a new born 
Clothed in the warm skin of a soothing smile 
Somewhere between fact and fate 
He'll tell you that so long as the sky bleeds rain 
And the ocean wakes up before the sun every morning
Then there's a ray of certainty for his existence 
A black man is a walking encyclopaedia 
Ask him anything 
There's always an answer