Murder of Africa

MURDER OF AFRICA Mother, Mother of the black race, Behold your children, Dead and dying, Not even a broken hope, Can their withered hands grope? Mother, Mother of Africa, See your children. Scattered and tattered, Refugees in their ancestral tomb, Where dreams die in the womb. Mother, Mother of the black race, Hear your children, Weeping and wailing, Tears for jagged stumps, Hope mined with mortal bombs. Mother, Mother of black Africa, See your children, Blind and bland, Ignorant tutored touts, Who steal from hungry mouths. Mother, Mother of the black race, Behold your children, Wanton and wicked, Not even a beggar’s stare, Can wrest a rusted coin, From their looted bullion. Murder! Murder of our vision, Brother against brother, Wealthy against wretched, Saints against sinners, Fear’s fermenting yeast, Brewing a bunch of belching beasts. Murder! Murder of our dreams, Boiling blood across the landscape, Frothing from war ravaged tribes, To rivers infested with corpses, To farmlands turned cemeteries, Where plough and ploughshare rust. Murderers! Mother arise, Strike them! With pestle and pestilence, Those kith and kin, Who tighten the hangman’s rope, Around our collective hope.