Enjoy the poem that won second prize this year in my annual poetry contest for teens between cultures.
Untitled by Selorm, Ghana/USA, Age 16
The drums sound,
and her village hands slap like thunder onto the
paved city streets and crumbling suburban sidewalks.
The baked gold dust of the Motherland has speckled the back of her hands,
though her blue jeans and sneakers are stained red, white and blue;
red, gold and green.
Her dance is backbreaking and classic,
though her spirit was born long before 1776.
Her soul resides with the Blackened Ones,
her body in the West.
But she is not torn nor troubled,
split nor shaken.
She dances fearlessly on the border of
two worlds. Photo courtesy of Lieven SOETE via Creative Commons.
Poetry Friday is hosted this week by Kate Coombs at Book Aunt.
The drums sound,
and her village hands slap like thunder onto the
paved city streets and crumbling suburban sidewalks.
The baked gold dust of the Motherland has speckled the back of her hands,
though her blue jeans and sneakers are stained red, white and blue;
red, gold and green.
Her dance is backbreaking and classic,
though her spirit was born long before 1776.
Her soul resides with the Blackened Ones,
her body in the West.
But she is not torn nor troubled,
split nor shaken.
She dances fearlessly on the border of
two worlds. Photo courtesy of Lieven SOETE via Creative Commons.
Poetry Friday is hosted this week by Kate Coombs at Book Aunt.