For Zainab Ajibade
Your blackness reclines against the light
fledges with smartness of dawn of time
like the shimmering water on a broken rock.
Within the regular arc of grace this moment still
like a mountain lake – blue of all shades and shadowy
green and purple, then red and roses and life.
This new age on the terrace of time is a perspective
of thought on yesterday, today and tomorrow
when we shall be drowned to a point of infinity.
You need to be conscious of the weight of time and decision;
kick off fiercely those hours of pessimism and be gentle
with optimism but balance problem inhibitor maths.
Be active. Life surely is not as good as God,
your name – Zainab, a metaphor for piety sliding
over the realm of Arab and calmness; beauty and love.
I love those steps on your rhythm and I see the vision
on your brow like a winner’s mirror that you can maintain
if we tie our heart to those things that matter.
We may not be the Gods of our destiny but we are
master of what we become in life. I celebrate you as you’re
pegged somewhere on the other side of consciousness.