I am Tobi, and my colour is my name.
They see slaves, but i see beauty, the type I’d claim.
Shall pretence continue to pretend?
Or will the happiness of slavery be our end?
These waters will dry up from the body of this friend.
Force is the tradition, they’d never borrow or lend.
What makes the apple fall off the tree isn’t shame,
There’s something hidden in history that is never told the same.
Color is a choice when words have a face.
Why does the earth swallow all the human race?
When black men had names, their ego did fade.
Where is there a chain that is handmade?
Ibe, Okafor, Emeli, Obama, are names roots cannot evade.
The earth is a costume for a masquerade
look into the pages not the cyberspace.
Iron is from earth, making a chain of Lovelace.
I am black, so what are you?
White? Or whatever is your hue…
Me being black gives you no daring to call my continent dark
We were fashioned so to showcase our skin is stark
On our beautiful skin, you inflicted indelible mark
Wounds healed but scars remain to invoke a traumatic wark.
Unapologetic to say, from your point of view
You’re blind to see where beauty lies true