We do not give birth to the girl child like we do the boys,
This is the reason the world doesn’t belong to them.
Daughter, this is how you know the world does not belong to you;
You sit, walk and stand among boys
With a posture manual clipped under your dress.
Your destiny is on your body,
The more a boy looks, the more you ruin.
Sex to you they say is debt, and until you meet your creditor,
Your body is a tree in the middle of an ocean.
You cannot hug a boy chest to chest, for your body bears temptations.
A boy sins, you die.
Our daughter is a cube of ice in the desert,
A flower in a city sited on the pegs of rocks.
Sadly, we treat her like an owndom,
A piece of luxury fitting into a box.
In Africa, our daughters are rainbows,
A collection of beauty in portraits of colours.
Sadly, we tell them they are nothing without the boys.