Africa

"Africa, my Africa,
Africa of proud warriors in the ancestral savannah,
Africa of which my grandmother sings
On the banks of ancient rivers."

That's history past—

Lest I forget,

My grandmother no longer sings.

Tales of great African warriors like Shaka the Zulu,
Ignites my spirit 

Tales of ancient civilizations like Egypt,

Whose pharaohs were likened to gods,

Keep the fire of African passion burning.

Alas, the Africa I met

Differs slightly from the ivory tower of darkness.

Africa of "sit-tight rulers"

Hoarding the throne for their sons and grandsons,

Who would rather kill the youth than step down when the people complain.

I've heard the story of a man sold for 30 pieces of silver,
And I said,
"At least he had value."
I know a man who sold his people, an entire generation,
For a position, to maintain relevance.
He sold their ability to dream big,
And what's worse?

He was thinking only of his future.

That's the Africa I'm in.

Oh, we don’t talk about that.

I believe, therefore I am.
I hope for a new Africa,
An Africa that the past heroes envisioned,
An Africa the present generation is moving toward,
An Africa that applauds others—
When it gets its turn, it receives a standing ovation.
Africa that watches others fight
And says, "Excuse me, the cup is mine."
And everyone shifts, for you don't fight the owner over her things.
Africa that speaks, and the world goes silent.
Africa's intervention in world matters means "End of discussion."
That's the Africa the past and present envision,
And that's possible.

Africa.

© Ebube