Cry Africa

She is a fine damsel, Fluent in Swahili, Walking barefoot on the dusty streets of Mali, Cracks under her feet incured from decades of strife, Caves of filth and so they mock her when she passes by, As the darkness thickens the silence becomes more terrifying, She searches for a hiding place deep inside the jungle, But fortunes deserts her when she comes across a rebel army, The rest of her tale is yours to imagine. Enjoy the benefits of the these bloody diamonds in the morning, They may be swept away in the evening, Enjoy the freedom before the speech, They may be none after it, When violence is sown in a home, The roots may uproot the neighbour's house, When a friend's cornfield catches fire, The flame is at your doorstep. Make a noise for the oppressed Somalian, Shed a tear for the slain Malian, Beat a drum for the hungry Sudanese, Get on your knees and pray For the African inferno to cease.