What is wrong with Black

What is wrong with black, 

so far i know the night eases my soul from the cravings of my heart,

 giving me peace to sleep in the still of the night.

What is wrong with dark,

 the sun of the desert burns sands that blow my face, 

picking holes in me, burning me but black keeps me handsome.

Black shields me. Black is the mask that beauty wears,

 black is mascara, the reality of a dream we hold dear. 

An intension of creation from the creator.

It was first black until there was light as commanded. 

Black is origin, origin is beginning, 

black is source, black is beginning. 

Black is real as it never fades.

I am black, I sleep in black, 

I long for black to ease my bones as I lay after light has laboured me so, 

all worn and warned, black gives me sleep and peace till morn.

So still I rise, for I am black and black in me still rise.

 So long as black births dawn, I will be the best I am.

 Light will birth from black.

 Mama, black. Africa mama. Black Mama.

 By Nsikan Ekah