A New Africa

Africa, our Africa wearing sack clothes and ashes of shame. This was not the land our fathers fought with their aneamic blood. It is not the jewel that was bought with a costly pay,though many who sweated in that haggle folded it in their breast pocket and picked its contents one by one like groundnut seed/// Africa, my Africa now torn like rag in bits and sold the worth of a mask;entertaining and shocking. Is this your pace, slow like the milipede in foiled attempts? Is this you begging arms with perforated plates. Weeping dry tears? You dwafed like afflicted stems on succulent tree?/// Oh! Africa land of good grain. Your farmished figure fades away our faith in thee. It makes us curse the cord that hold us even before birth,but tears cannot wash away your blackness on our skin. In this fire that burn you,though hotter than hell, we shall mingle our tears and through steadfast march redeem our Africa from servitude.