Then if you are real
Like mother’s kitchen broom
Wipe out my Africa
Like a clan of cockroaches –
Rumour eats my Africa
She trades itself
For the meagre funds
Gathered like firewood
By those new big-bellied men
Who buy & sell men’s hearts
With a piece of white paper
Or barter them
Through a cake of seminars
Chaired by the gun!
Then if you are real
Wipe my Africa
Wipe a whole continent
Out of existence ...
But whoever goes to UN
Help us
Tell our story to WHO
For Africa shall spring anew
Together with other Third & Fourth globes!