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.
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