Posted: March 6, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,

by Okoye Chukwudi Charles Ezeamalukwuo

Africa; -the ever incorrigible dark maiden,
Known from the Nile to the Orange River,
Ripe as the cherry.
Africa, the mouth craves the bite of your sweetness

Africa; -the coffee coloured texture of your skin
Rubbed with palm oil, and sweetened cocoa,
Brushing over wild flowers,
Leaves its imprint of love and hate the same.

Africa; -the celestial outline of your frame
Like the evening sun spread out in gold,
Naked across the sky,
Leaves its longing of love and hate the same.

Africa; -the immerse browness of your eyes,
Mixed with the blue; -an image of the sea,
Rising and falling over again,
Leaves its passion of love and hate the same.

The advent of europeans upon your shores,
Africa; -The one hunting yet hunted
The one trading yet traded.
Africa; -the slave. Africa; -the master too.

Yesterday; -it was the salvation of your soul.
Africa; -the one caught in between the feud
Of the east and the west.
Africa; -the crusader. Africa; -the jihadist too.

Yesterday; -it was the civilisation of your ways.
Africa; -the one robbed and brutally raped
By self and by gentlemen.
Africa; -the victim. Africa; -the aggressor too.

Yesterday; -it was the dawn of your freedom.
Africa; -the one who was found guilty
By laws foreign and unknown.
Africa; -it is you, -the one denied justice.

Today; the self imposed exiles of your own,
The barbaric actions of your warring clans,
The damnation of your soul.
Africa; the exiled, the barbaric, the damned.

Today; its the mounting tensions in the North,
-The Arab Spring, the corruption in the South,
-The poverty of the east and the west.
Africa; -the maid amid plenty yet living in penury.

You known them all, -pride and prejudice,
The ever intoxicating flavour of absolute power.
Yesterday; -the Pharaohs and pyramids.
Today; -the iron fist of unpatriotic dictators.

You know them all; -pilgrims on bended knees,
Heads glued upon earth in ejaculatory prayer.
The calling to the gods
Whom have fallen victims for a foreign cause.

You know them all; the poking of the eyes.
Tears stained eyes fixed solely upon the sky
Pleading, employing for a sign.
Africa, pleading for dignity, not foreign aid.

Tomorrow; the break of dawn and the grey of dusk,
The reconciliation of your estranged tribes.
Perhaps, -nothing will change.
Africa; who knows well the betrayal of time.

Lyriversity — Liberty of Creativity

  1. I like the core message you apparently passed here. Africa is partly, if not wholly, the harbinger of her woes. Take for example the slave trade whìch had reigned in Africa (particularly Nigeria) years before the Lord Lugards of British accent came here. Africa, as you said, is a maid in the liberal househood plenitude. She had the knife and yam to cut, but choose to cut herself with the knife.

    But we can get out of our collective mess, if the upper and lower echelons unanimously put hands on deck to clean the mess.
    It will time for sure, but there’s no time that doesn’t decrease in amplitude with a single step.
    Nice poem.

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