A Son of The Soil

I am a son of the dark continent By conception and ancestral offshoot This black earth, Where my dark ancestors deposited The birth right of my life In the dark bowels of our black sacred earth, As the Canon and cradle of civilization; The Land where my dark nostrils First embraced the dark air in my dark lungs; Which my dark ancestors bequeathed me; The sacred ancestral black air which saturate My dark back bone and black spinal cord, Ensuring the purity of oxygenated black blood, Meandering inside the black bowels Of my black body and dark soul; Galvanizing sacred ancient wisdom The bloodshot ebony retinas Of my dark sacred ancestors foretold Time yellowed corn from afar Blazing tobacco pipes competed fiercely in the twilight For supremacy of sacred African nights, With African Moon and unyielding black stars Of Africa The sweet aroma of embellished palm wine Buried in the bowels of countless kegs of sacred African calabashes; Roasted yam dipped in sacred palm oil and African pepper Teased their black taste buds, stretching it to the boiling point of saturation; Bonga fish and soaked garri was their appetizer, As my dark ancestors soaked in the dark skin of black pride, Battled to determine whose black skin was darker Than the pitched black nights of Africa; And whose black blood aligned more with black Africa's clay earth!