The Aftermath

This cannot be a time for the living. What we see makes us sad. And what We don't see makes us sad. We no longer know what hurts, Or if we have fear, or hope. The flag has lost contact with reality. No shadows define the land. Fat-fingered comrades with stuttering Tongues start dying their hair. Children have lost the secret of innocence, Fall prey to the baldness of wickedness. Crocodiles admire us because We have a wanton disregard for our fellowmen That even they cannot achieve. Big-nosed black angels on the church steps Announce the resurrection of Jesus And everything in three languages: Tribalism, Corruption and Death. We do not know what is to come, We have forgotten That our name (Africa) means also Seeking of like-minded souls. But no one remembers what to seek. Still, freed from the nest of thorns, We speak from elsewhere: Everyone knows that Africa is too old To climb mountains. (They mock our past lives What we were and what we did.) We are alone in the world.