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The dark continent; a place of extremes
where the sun rises early and surprises me with its intensity.

In between can be found the stuff of life at every level,
whilst beneath my feet the red soil heaves with life
as the insect microcosm dashes about its business,
before the white heat commands them into the shadows.

All around, the vegetation stands tall and proud,
as if trying to be the first to touch the sun
and birdsong fills the heavy air
perfumed by the breath of exotic spices.

How can this be the dark continent
when every sight that blesses my eyes is brighter,
bolder, painted with brushes not of my earth?
yes, the skins are intensely black, blue-black

But when the smile which adorns every beautiful face
grins – and bursts open to reveal two perfect rows of pearls
the infection is passed to the viewer
who now sees only brilliant light
as the soul is finally revealed.

These people, wearied by poverty and bowed by blind politics
nonetheless walk tall and proud
as if trying to be the first to touch the sun
standing head and shoulders above
our stiff-necked dissatisfactory lives.

If Africa is the dark continent
then I am suddenly in love with blackness
and I fear for the dimming light 
which bathes my homeland.

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