A Hooded Dream

Africa mother Africa Africa of scrumptious haven Slowly stretched Into an unscrupulous savannah Africa of whom my grandmothers Now sits and cry Singing her present gore Silhouette against her ancient glory Your blood flows on our streets And on our streams Your beautiful black blood That in time past flows in our veins Africa that birthed warriors Of ancestral citations Now puppets of millennium recantation The sweats of your toils The scars from your slavery The cry for your freedom How come this has now Transformed into a mastery Of your present folly You whose back was bent To pack from her plenteous plantation Now breaks in the continuous bid To pick form her present carnage