Democracy of Chains

They came with books and broken laws, With poison veiled in noble cause, Whispers of "freedom" in their breath, But all they brought was silent death. "Athens," they claimed, "birthed this design"— Yet nowhere did the ancients sign A pact to force this frame on all, To raise some up, to make most crawl. When they arrived on Africa’s shore, They found no beggars at the door, But golden thrones and sacred trees, And peace that danced upon the breeze. No hunger carved our children’s cheeks, No thieves in suits, no foreign leaks, Just kingdoms vast with wisdom deep, Now buried under foreign sleep. Democracy, they say, is light— But darkness grows beneath its might. No wolf will bow to lambs in chains, No lion feast on empty gains. You took our grace for coward’s mask, And made our blood your sacred task, But no—our kindness was not fear, And now the storm of truth draws near. This system born in devil’s womb, Pretends to bless, but builds a tomb. Does nature vote on when to rise? Do stars hold court to paint their skies? God is no democrat in throne, He does not need a public tone. His justice flows from sacred fire, Not hollow words that men admire. Africa, awaken from your dream— Your soul was sold for foreign scheme. Your wealth, your will, your warrior song, Still burns beneath what’s called “wrong.” Dictate with love, with truth, with light, Not puppets placed to dim your sight. The kingdoms you once carved in gold Were never ruled by lies bought, sold. Today you beg where once you reigned, Because their system keeps you chained. Break it. Burn it. Let it fall. And rise again, a lion tall. Europe—step back, your age is done. This lion wakes beneath the sun. Your paper crowns and hollow fame Shall bow before Africa’s name.