The Story of the Malawian Rose

While Rosa refuses to vacate her seat in Alabama

Another Rose is birthed across the world in Kasonga,

Only to find herself in the same country where people of color

Had no voice.

The Rose, made her choice.

The Rose.

Blooming in serenity, finds her space

In the American Nation, reaching for the light,

To show her true spirit;

This spirit…one of courage, glory and might.

This Rose I say is one I adore.

Because she was blessed to bring good to those around her

Never forgetting her offspring, siblings and friends

Even on the coldest day or in the darkest night.

She brought them strength, warmth and light.

This Rose I say is one I adore

Her stem is of steel and her petals tender

As soft as the waves on Lake Malawi’s shore,

She blooms gracefully, with a humble allure.

This Rose I say is one I adore.

This Rose, my mother

My Black African Mother,

Proud to be hers and not of some evil-doer.

Because she defines what is good,

Plato and Aristotle were born in the wrong era,

For it they needed a definition of what kind of man is good,

They would look…to My mother…

My mother, I say, this Rose I adore.

A true depiction of her name,

An image of perfection,

A symbol of calm,

Planted on this chaotic terrain.

Who else but my mother, The Rose I adore