Who is Giovanni Sorrentino?
I am a Nigerian Canadian poet, my work explores devotion, identity, and the power of presence. Through spiritual reverence and lyrical defiance, my writing illuminates the sacredness of the everyday and the strength found in unseen struggles.
To bE you
To be you
Is to be criticized
within their criticism lies hypocrisy,
and such acts may never go unpunished
within their bubble of imagined security.
To be you is to be put down,
with expectation to rise again,
to reclaim the dignity that others seek to steal.
I say again:
to be you is to be sexualized,
your figure adored but the depth of your tongue scorned
You sit and wonder:
To what extent shall this go on?
How long shall I wait to be valued and worthy?
Even now, as you sit in quiet animosity,
they gather, eager to enshrine your missteps,
to plaster your wrongdoings on the walls,
and cry from the hills:
“We have done it”
I say for the last time:
To be you is to be strong.
Your stride, unbroken.
Your smile, welcoming.
Your faith, unwavering.
Your spirit, tempered and tamed
The storm you face
in the room of silent opposition
behind the smiles that reveal a forked tongue
you shall overcome.
For It has been ordained.
Your place upon this earth is yours to keep,
and your destiny,
yours to claim.
Part 1: The Sun
Daughter of the Sun,
Niece of the Nile
The sun does not shine upon you,
for It leans in reverence.
At the strike of first light,
Your skin receives its embrace,
Radiating like gold within its arms.
In its warmth, your beauty rises
A morning star unshrouded.
Your eyes, twin universes,
unveil the hidden truths of the heavens.
With each step beneath its gaze,
The fragrances of earth sway to your tune.
You, who do not bask in the sun,
but command it.
To see you,
Is to behold abundance:
your hair, bountiful as sheep’s wool,
Each curl, a hymn the sun has learned to sing.
So I leave you this:
my awe, my reverence, my devotion.
For silence follows you,
As it does in sacred halls,
for divinity has come.
Part 2: The moon
The Moon has awaited its turn,
Longing for you to see its value.
it cannot blaze like the Sun,
But offers what lies
within the quiet embrace of the dark.
In its silver gaze,
your skin turns blue
blue as the deepest oceans,
where mysteries lie.
And your hips,
like crescent moons in motion,
sway with a rhythm the tide remembers.
You, daughter of daylight,
still, the night worships you:
softly, silently, wholly.
As one worships a god made of starlight