My Africa
My Africa is not the poor image
Ravaged by war in the betrayal of anger,
Echoed sounds graduating through the village
In a portrayal of dances and comedy of laughter.
Nor the ugly cast freedom fighters had lost,
When modernism changes our culture,
The price of realism came at a great cost,
And in dispersion we became unsure.
Those we believe were exploiters of God
Held out bribes that led to slippery slopes,
And all the choices we made were bad,
Believing hope would in time open our eyes.
When we turn the page and tasted desire
I think we found a better reason to love,
With all those who favor Gods fire,
Forgiveness is a more worthy gift to give.
Humbling darkness into the still hour
Sowing seeds in the shadow of energy renew,
Growing stronger in boiling sweat of power,
My Africa was always lovely and true.
The wooden world is a place of the future,
In the place, where our Herero's were born.
Each mortal is a pearl that the world discover
African diamonds grazing in the fire farm.
The soiled bed will be blossomed and glow
Pay debts to throw out the challenging light,
And cover darkening death where phantoms go,
For spirits stray in shades of the haunted night.
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