Mother Africa
EVERYDAY,I WATCH MY MOTHER WEEP,
GRIEVING THE SON SHE BORE.
SHE ROLLS IN THE HEARTH,
THE BRILLIANCE OF HER SMILE,LONG GONE.
WHY DO YOU CRY BLACK MOTHER?
THAT YOUR SON HAS FALLEN?
THAT THE SOUND OF HIS NAME,
SHALL NEVER AGAIN BE CARRIED TO YOUR EAR?
DID THE LIES HE FED YOU WITH,
FILL OUR HUNGRY BELLY?
OR THE LIES HE CLOTHED YOU IN,
SHELTER YOU FROM THIS SQUELCHING HEAT?
AND WHEN YOU GAVE HIM YOUR PAPER,
DID HE LEAVE HIS CAR,TO SHAKE YOUR HAND?
CRY NOY,BLACK MOTHER,MY MOTHER.
BUT IF YOU SHOULD CRY,
CRY FOR US.
FOR AS WE WERE HUNGRY ONCE,
WE ARE HUNGRY STILL.
CRY FOR THE SOULS OF THOSE HE SLAY,
THEIR BLOOD SCREAMS FROM THIS PARCHED LAND.
AND THOUGH HIS BODY LIES HEAVY ON MY BACK,
MY FEET HASTEN TO THE GRAVE WE DUG.
TODAY MY DAUGHTER SHALL SING.
AND MY SON SHALL DANCE.
THE SOUND OF HOPE IS SWEET.
Copyright © Esther Ndichu | Year Posted 2007
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