Stuck in the cellars of a foreign glass container…
Recalling the warm heat that baked me in the African earth…
The strong hands that moulded me into place. The strong hands that shaped my nose, my head and firm features
Now people stare at me as they walk by me all day..
The clicking sounds of cameras The noisy chatter of kids
I lay hanging in a foreign land
Where are the people that once worshipped me? Held me in high esteem?
I sit here today bathed with lights in my nakedness…
Missing and longing for that African warmth…