Her Complaints

I had a chat with Africa, and these were her complaints, Whispers carried on the winds of forgotten saints. Her voice was a tapestry woven in hues of despair, In her heart, the weight of corruption's cross to bear. She mourned for lands of plenty, resources untold, Yet shackled by the chains of greed and power, she's sold. Leaders who promised dreams, but delivered naught but pain, As Africa wept silently in the shadow's reign. She spoke of unity, a vision unfulfilled, As tribal scars and borders divide, her spirit chilled. Her children pitted against each other in strife, While the world watched, Africa's suffering was rife. The corruption, like cancer, gnawed at her core, Eroding trust and hope, leaving her people poor. Billions siphoned away, into foreign banks they'd flow, Leaving Africa weakened, her progress painfully slow. Yet, Africa's strength is in her resilient soul, Her vibrant cultures, and her stories untold. She longs for brighter days when her people rise above, The weight of corruption, to rebuild, to truly love. Her complaints echo through the savannahs and the sands, A plea for justice, for healing, for caring hands. Africa's voice, a song of sorrow, but also hope, In the face of her complaints, together, we can cope.