in poetry •  last year 


Photo credit @jacobite

Ebony black mother
Rich in subtle majesty
Clothed in majesty, I can only help but mutter
Usurping your dynasty
You encompass me like a moonlight blanket
Scooping me in warm embrace
Covering the suckling in nature's own packet
Protecting us from the villain's race

Woe to the whites
They have crushed your dark pride
But against their towering tides
Your black gold tights
We lie a mere eight miles
South of the white pigs' cage
Bruising us to infinite rage
Their instrument-the computer; that old wicked goddess
That has tongue tied us
T o the treacherous weeping of our own blood;
The supreme price.

Woe to your children
Lost in the world of their captors
Plastering our skin for the sline
For succour
Yeah, our masters desire us to be line
Nay, but to lose our black heritage
For which we were born to an alien age
Yet our mother is forgiving

A centrifugal mother
She reaches out for all the prodigal things
Scattered abroad
With their booties of pride they weep
And yet the promises they failed to keep
Their golden black they will not cease to spoil
And on the world's topography to steep
Africa-natures own synonym
Dares not sleep
For she must keep awake
As the great source of global realism
Even if earth quakes

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