Poetry

          To My Future Son

                 

                    

If I should have you,                                 

I would teach you that you are not just a man but a King, you are from a line of royal priesthood, a descendant of rulers who reigned with dignity and authority, so you my son will be a born leader.

I would close your ears to all the negativity of false teachers who will say that you will never make it and sell you dreams of buying into a system that leaves you limited, because you will be destined for greatness. I will make you understand that wisdom is not taught but caught through experiences and a classroom alone will not determine your fate since you borrowed another man’s knowledge.

If I should have you,   

 I would not try to be both your mother and father because I can never take a man’s place to teach you how to be a man but I will be the best mother I can be to make sure that you succeed. 

I would cup your face and tell you that baby it’s ok to make mistakes,  falling doesn’t make you a failure because a lesson hard learned is what will teach you not to make the same mistake twice.                                                       

If I should have you,

 I would remind you that a woman’s sanctuary is what she holds between her thighs and that her gateway to heaven should only be ascended if you are ready to bring to her a sacrifice of devotion.

I would take your hands into my own and hold them firmly, then place them close to my heart and say ‘the heart of a woman is in your hands because you are a reflection of God on this earth so handle it with care because it’s very delicate’.

                                 

                

                                                        

If I should have you,

 I would not teach you Black history but African history, the history of your ancestors before colonialism, before slavery, before there was even the notion of colours which determined where we stood on the evolutionary ladder and our history was mixed with Western ideologies.  I would teach you the beauty of Africa in its most undiluted form. 

I would want you to be proud of your African name, which feels heavy when pronouncing it with your British accent, whether you have to click your tongue or even stamp your feet, you shall wear your African name with pride as if you were Simba. And when you write it,  you will not shorten it to Anglofy it and lose its true meaning and even if Microsoft Word marks a read line under it as if it was a mistake, just remember my son, you are not because your name was written in the stars to determine your fate.

You will not lose your identity because your identity lies in your tongue, the power to speak your mother’s language, in a foreign country will bring fear of the unknown on those who feel threatened by cultural diversity.   

If should have you,

 I will model for you how to partner with Integrity; I will encourage you to make Forgiveness your brother and Hope your anchor. Because in this world that you will enter there are those who will wait for your downfall, but if you hold on to these three things, Success will be your best friend and those who sought your detriment will find themselves related to Shame.    

                                                                                   

If I should have you,

 I will encourage you to turn a blind eye to the media, so you don’t believe in the negative stereotypes associated with black men. Shun the TV shows that kill your brain cells and read books that will penetrate your mind with inspirations and stimulate your senses with imaginations. 

 You are not lazy, you are not a player, you are not uneducated and you will certainly not be anybody’s baby daddy but somebody’s father.

Click click, will not be the sound of the trigger that you pull, click click will not be the sound of your coffin that they shut, click click will not be the sound of the prison door they lock,

 But click click will be the sound of the pen that you use for creativity; click click will be the sound of that brand new car you bought with money you worked for, click click will be the sound that your audience make when they hear you speak words that resurrects the poet in them that died.

So my son, see this poem as your mother’s hope for your life, waiting to be birthed into reality.

Mell Nyoko