WHITE ON BLACK

Paulo Vilanculo"

My hair is white.

implanted in this black clay wall

My hair is white.

like white men

White people who colonized this area thousands of years ago.

Weak, with their reddish horses, some fell in battle.

Franks on their thrones, eventually they fell...

So many, their castles, they left.

Rotos, in their boats, fled.

My hair is white.

In this land of ours, once black, which they made mulatto.

In civilization

in their commercial exchanges, (im)moral acculturations that brought

My hair is white.

Redheads, a reminder of devaluation.

In life, rescue and wear and tear.

In the litter, alms coming from the north.

My hair is white.

Full of hope and confidence to lead the new generation.

In the new era of emancipation, today in globalization.

My hair is white.

On my tattooed fingers, the story will be told.

Moments of joy will be resurrected.

In the remote, abysmal, uneven growth between camels and mushrooms.

My hair is white.

In memories that will forever fuel my fight for the evolving people.

My hair is white.

My grandchildren will tell you.

Good days will come.

2025/12/3