African Pride

To be African.
What is it to be one? 
Is it as special, is it as neat?
Are these the nations, to which hearts skip a beat?

The infamous red? The color of blood shed!
The screaming yellow, of the natures sunbed!
The brown, the drought, the wilting sprout!
The wonderful green, land of the unseen, route. 
Go check it out.

But really, what is it to be from Africa?
Is it the pride in the richly black Kenyan coffee, Arabica?
Is it the language, romantic Swahili, vibrant Swahili,
Is it the presence of wild cunning monkeys, tumbili?

The bright blue Indian ocean, is it even blue?
The white sandy beaches, the seafood and the stew.
Is it the fiery red volcanic soil, the red ochre,
The multicolored Maasai, the green ground okra.
The rainbow waiting to occur.
 
Black skin, red blood, white teeth milk,  
The evergreen, the coffee-brown, moorland and heath,
The purple spices, the orange fruit slices, 
The seasonal clear river flowing through the creek.
To be African is to be colorful, that is my point, 
To be full of bright colors, in happiness adjoined,
Despite my dark complexion, my unseen details,
I am the color in me, come, let’s listen to some folktales.
Smile, grab some cocktails.