Africa, bitter Africa,
The black mother with sagging breasts that flap
Of feeding the pearl backs that lay on her lap.
Africa, sobered in your checkered past,
Yet gracious in your centrifugal sons that thrive amidst your jailers,
You could have had a statue of liberty to behold
If your oppressors had let your tears still in its dome.
You still remember that salty taste?
You still feel the gutters running down your cheek in Liberia?
They stripped your back of its flesh with their whips,
And all they left for your weary eyes were
Somalia, Soweto, amongst other bitter memories.
Africa, once beautiful Africa,
I’m sure your arms were everything but shriveled,
I’m sure your shape was robust like a model’s
Before the waters of sorrows washed away your curves.
I’m sure that night was still when the owls did sing
A Muzak that enticed the baby king to refuge in your hut—
Cuddled by the fireplace as dinner was made.
You were once full of life like Mona Lisa, the painting that smiles.
Your tunic might have been diamond stoned
And might have had a Gucci etch;
It might have had a lapel and might have been a tuxedo,
But here you are, in your ruins, it’s made just of rags.
You might have been a concrete jungle
With walls that hit the domes of the sky,
But from one end of the Sahara, all I see is
Africa, my present day Africa.
Africa, glamorous Africa,
Your oppressors did leave you bitter memories,
But they didn’t—they couldn’t—go with everything sweet:
Those sturdy pyramids and the great Giza of Egypt,
And the obodom’s audacious, brave beats.
You still own the Zulu and their vuvuzela
That drowned every ear that headed south;
They left you Nelson Mandela
To undo the gnash in your mouth.
Africa, Mummy Africa,
This is a message from your impetuous child.
Africa, I love you, Africa.
July, 2010