She walks with the sun in her skin,
Melanin kissed by centuries of light.
Her hair coils like ancient stories,
Each strand a memory of queens and courage.
Her lips speak proverbs before words,
Her eyes carry drums, rivers, and fire.
She is wrapped in colours that sing,
Ankara dreams, woven with pride.
Africa is not just seen in her beauty—
It is felt in her stance,
Heard in her silence,
And remembered in her strength.
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