Photo by Kwame Braithwaite

Black. Blacker. Blackest.

Darker than windswept mud. Glossier than the sheen on a sleek panther, mocking the night.

Eyes wide open in white. Ears disappear in sight. Nose broad and strong for slay rides.

Meatier pockets of flesh are fleshier with delicious humps that bring nourishment for wetness.

Shakier than shook nooks. Curated blobs are smoothened with thorough caresses.

Daggers of disapprovals shot out of masses of white, holding thick documents of God’s creed, rebooted for looted resources, that were buried in leafy suction of land, sprawled in defiance of masked invaders.

Creatures of sunlight, bathing in black domes of blackness without scarcity of fragrance that birthed civilization are huddled in the disarray of blighted mankind in ships that rudely asked waters to part.

Buckled in watery cans of soaked cries for freedom, the torchlight to the west was provided by the moon’s shade of despair at the inhumanness that forced lighted torches to somewhere.

Centuries of fabled testimonies produced threats to the darkest of skins, without the glorious return to statutes of superiority that still remains at a loss.

The fragility of a hue so warm and hot with dices of a glow that tinkers with distraughtness of aging is the youthful solution that keeps the whitest at bay.

Black. Blacker. Blackest.

The fairest of them all is BLACK.

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