Sons and daughters of heritage

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Sons and daughters of heritage

The prints have landed. My bones shiver to marry them but who will make me fit to dine with my African identity? Many sing of dazzling beads that holler sweet rythms of heritage and l only gaze with eyes of a clueless owl. 

She arrayed her curved figure with colorful saints of paints which only tell a story of a unique regime of origin. He has furnished his muscular body with timeless pieces of revolutionary history, which also speaks volumes of a clear awareness of existence. Only to realize that heritage has become a trophy of honor that also defines origin and identity. 

Their dances are superb enough to unleash their flawless dark skins and defy the god of shyness. Their smiles don't care of the trends of poverty in their yard, rain is not enough to quench their yoke of joy. These are heirs of meaningful heritage, a symbol of splendor here in the African palace. 

Not even my dropped jaw could erase the turmoil of the speedily curling dust, which was a chaotic consequence for the holy dances of heritage. These are virgin sons and daughters of the rainbow who have shun the masks of colonised souls and have embraced the undefiled sense of belonging. Their vigour show scriptures of pride and textures of integrity for the land of their ancestors, the land of their makeup. 

Their shoes are not anointed with glossy flavours of luxury but they are solid enough to shake the envious and weeping ground, forcing it to submit to their story. The story of heritage, their tag of glomour. 

They have golden voices melodious enough to raise the dead ancestors, the founders of this religion, a regime of heritage. See their overt bosom dancing for the applaud of their kisser. Behold their shameless but spongy buttocks preach a gospel of true love and divine romance. They love because they are loved. They are loved because the religion of heritage favours their identity. They don't care, they will dance until their foes hands them an applause. 

They are mothers of the African heritage. They are fathers of undefiled heritage of their land. They live to unleash the bright colours of their origin. They live to kiss the sky and dazzle the horizon.

By Blessing Mhlanga

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