Brown

If all the colours of the spectrum had mouths to speak, the colour brown would have the most to say. One colour tasked to carry the weight of generational injustices. A colour whose ancestors were taught forgiveness – which looked warm but tasted bitter. Brown. A colour my skin dared to wear. Indefinite – as the rainbow would explain it. A rebel, really. Brown. My mother’s favourite colour. She wore it on her native tongue & strut it in her walk. It exploded in her laughter but sounded charming when she would talk. She’s brown. She is also a loving mother. A caring boss. A woman who has carried her cross yet wonders, how you decided that one colour could determine all of that. Brown. A silent colour tossed aside and ignored. If given a voice, a knee down his throat. Chains around her hands. Brown. A painful colour to be. A history lesson with always the same ending. A narrative I have also experienced and pray that my unborn children will tell in the third person. Brown. When you see it you lock your doors. You hold tightly your handbag. Suspicious looking colour. Brown. Ever so glorious. The same colour the Earth’s soil decided to wear when God grovelled His hands through it to create Adam & Eve. Brown. You were deceived about so many things. The beauty in your coarse hair makes the night’s sky jealous. Black gums, bright teeth and starry eyes. Maybe as time goes by things will unfold. Maybe, Beyonce was right. Maybe brown skinned girls do have skin just like pearls. However, I can’t help but wonder how I ended up here brown skinned, black haired with a colourless soul.