No one knows your name,
exact the one who gave you your title,
Maybe it’s fine, they want the shooter’s fame,
And you, you want what’s vital.
The subtle search, in these pages, of magic sometimes subdued
by the here and now of your situation,
Adroit written literature got you, briefly, numbed,
And wishing that you can also create oasis in this location.
You’re black, not like the tar, but the ink
Ancestors have breathed in certain formation,
You’re the tool between author and book, link,
Putting pain and joy in novel written solution.
Black kids, especially in the locations, are not encouraged to read or don’t read enough books. I feel sorrow because many black kids are missing out in the god-given magic of reading a book. I took inspiration from African focklores.