ANICEKODJO
Black, as an ideal. The history forgets and prefers to be in total darkness.
Black, pride I make of my strength. Without ever wanting to go beyond the skin.
Black, lost paths and unknown identities of people who claim to defend my suffering.
Black, a son who will be struggling to justify its greatest value to be different.
Black, because black and white constantly. Black eyes full of tears of Martin Luther King, Malcolm X ... Black.
ANICEKODJO