Oh Africa
your sons and duaghters run
we fly in search of greener pastures
we your sons forget
you are already green
green with life and land
but you smiled
to your impetuous sons, you smiled
we fled you and yet you loved us
you said you will wait
the long wait
but behind that you wept
you wept bitterly and you still weep
like a baby who's mother is off to market
they exploited your face
your land, trees, sons
they took them to the cold
and they left you decrepit and bruished
their hearts were cobwebs
they now stretch their hands
they have repented?
their pardonable God, He forgave them?
for their brutalities against humanity?
they say ours is black
but they were wicked and black
Africa! we now remember our sins
we have rediscovered you
Africa, your tears overflowed your banks
it has reached us, we know your patience
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
1 comment:
i love your poem--you are telling what really happens: it's just perfect
Post a Comment