AFRICAN COOKING POT
I'm the African cooking pot
Drawn from the toughest clay
Moulded by the best Potter
Heated, tested and proven
They that know my cooking prowess
Dare not opt for an alternative
I'm built to withstand the hottest flames
I'm the pride of an African woman.
I'm the magic behind her cooking prowess
The stove can't heat me enough,
Gass can't fit my bass...
I'm for the African clay tripod.
I am the African man,
Thick, dark and fine,
I was made to be black,
My colour remains black
I dare not trade my colour for another
I dare not change my bass to sooth your kitchen
The Black soothes that cover me
Prove my fulfillment and usefulness
Value me, treat me carefully
Or I break,
For even when I'm broken
I'll still speak of Africa in archeology.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem