Dinka Poem

By Tyreece Powell

Its sound is as boisterous as Langston Hughes.

When I have it in my hands it gives me a sense of control,

Like AI with the rock in his hand at a basketball game.

Its color is as dark as Wesley Snipes.

And keys are as silver as coins.

The reed is as natural as an oak tree.

When I am not making a beautiful tone,

It is in its case being left alone.

In the closet is where it’s going be,

Awaiting another beautiful soul lesson with me.