The first day I heard of Africa
A golden land full of able Blacks like an abstract to the world,
Driving pride to courage like the Bugatti car;
Smuggled to dignify her land,
As she spread her wings of credence to lack.
Trying to fight the sun from setting at her pace
A land unstable with gullible ways,
Causing hardship to be expressed on her face;
Like a hungry lion with a wander of many more days.
What can the old say of Africa?
What can the young write of her land?
The here-upon future leaders;
Are uncovered to reprimanded crimes,
Such which takes them to dust before their future
And their toddler dreams drank in merriment to death.
Mother cries for Africa
Daily her tears touched the soul of the land,
Stabbing the land to depression and agony;
For her sins are more than the blood to wash.
Who can heal Africa?
Who can heal her of her mistakes,
Who can pay her price for she’s to be sentenced.
The hyenas laugh Africa to shame,
Tapping her back with generous tips of hope;
And a loud guffaw to her lukewarm status-quo of lack.
Her kids are inflicted with pains,
Malnutrition worn around her weak ribs;
Endangering her to suffering and social violence
As their tears are dried off by the scorched sun.
Hope appeared around my shoulder,
Though it’s kindled, but to that of good,
That the sun shall rise one day in Africa;
And her sons illuminate the ends of the world,
Making home her source of survival.
Africa I pray! To her God and gods,
That the land shall not be doomed;
And innocent bloods not cause abomination to the land.