The Firstborn.

Brought up in the slopes of Central Kenya,
Blended between Luhya and Kikuyu she is,
A beauty to shine in the eyes of two,
A bond to link two,
In love,
She is the first fruit of their love,
Eyes like those of her mother's,
Face resembling father's,
Beneath her waist lies the generations of greatness,
Rightly curved to leave men drooling over her,
But in her,
She knows not rubbing her secrets in the oilskins of strangers,
Her morals nourished by her traditions,
The western twisting tongues can't corrupt,
Or even erase her mother tongue.

Like an open book her personality is,
One can read through the lines,
She doesn't hide her flaws behind make up,
Only when the sun has dawned on her,
Independently she lives,
Blocked from the dictating,
Intimidating,
Blackmailing emotions,
Lives by her words,
Born to unite different cultures
Doesn't buy her melanin,
Born of African to live in Africa.

Ruthsellah