Patrick Ituma Poet Dramatic Monologue

No To Xenophobia

HEAL THY SELF O WOUNDED AFRICA 
                (no to XENOPHOBIA).
      
Wake up a voice shouted 
You slept like a pregnant woman 
While the drum beat of my assagil sounds like trumpet 

With fear and deep chill I listened
The ghost of mighty black warrior standing in shiver
As I face the Great Zulu warrior lost in fear
I saw him Shaka cry to the members of Mambers the great Gods of Africa

There before him stands the Mighty Nile in disbelief 
With the Niger filled with bloods disagrees to stay calm 
The Senegal and the Congo revolted with flood
The orange and the Limpopo grumble and cried as the sky shared their pains with continuous rain pour. 
O you failed cried d Zambezi as she invades her neighbors with flood

A knock on my door I heard a voice shout
Speak out for Africa 
It is I Kwameh Nkrumah speaking 
This is a sacrilegious act echoed the Mighty Zik
When the house is not in order the cockroaches becomes violent 
Cried out the anguish voice of Awolowo
From afar I saw a running giant coming with the force of a chariot 

Then I heard a voice so mighty was it that the visitors chased it with fear
He a mighty figure decorated and protected by glory of stars
Stood there is burning eyes of anger 
Cover in the black glasses with general pride

As curious as a questionnaire 
I ventured in to the glorious illusionary scene 
Standing before my trembling eyes was The General Abacha in his full stature
Like a Ligtening spark the mighty figure bent his head in shame 
As I looked to behold who thou art
There before me I saw The Mighty Mandela in tears of betray

Weep no more thou wounded soul
The thunderous voice of King Sailaise shouted
In council with the great Ghaddafi as furious as 
Idi Amin
Sankara frowned like a disgraced old man 
While the ghost of Seda Sengho felt it lost its victories like Anthonio lost all his titles

In schock I turned as a firmed hand gently parted my hand 
It was a mighty spirit with two heads 
It is the heads of the great secretaries 
Achebe and Giwa
Handing me a pen a paper 
Written on it 
Heal thyself O Africa before yesterday bleed to death.

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