You black, beautiful sapphire,

Glinting like a starlight.

Woman of profound attributes,

That is seeable even in the dark of night.

Woman of great simplicities;

Woman of the upland rice fields.

Oh, my beloved mother,

This serenade is for you!

You that opened my eyes,

To the wonders of the world.

You that bore with all my innocent moods,

And held my hands when I took my first faltering steps.

Oh, my beloved mother,

This serenade is for you!

Like the gathering of butterflies,

Fluttering their colorful wings in a gentle breeze,

Oh, my mother is beautiful!

Black women whose ancestors,

Descended the peak of Mount Gleetohn,

To hunt in these perilous jungles.

Black women whose fathers’ fathers,

First, sailed the course of the River St. Paul,

From its source down to Cape Mesurado.

Oh, my mother,

This serenade is for you!

Black woman whose voice,

Brings joy to the hearts of the sad-hearted.

Like the vocal of the violin,

Your mere presence is a rhythm of muse.

You whose smile glimmers,

Like ten thousand stars,

In the night sky.

Oh, my mother,

This serenade is for you!

Your black lapis lazuli,

Worthier than a thousand royal chandeliers.

Oh, my dearest mother,

As the drum is being beaten for you,

I desire nothing but to see you dance!

Dance, virtuous woman, in your moment of joy,

For this serenade is for you.

This was written by our contributing writer, Emmanuel Gleekia.