Africa.

Africa, my motherland.
The home of my forefathers,
Who were as ignorant as children.
But were as industrious as wild beavers.
They call themselves Africans.

Africa.
The land of assiduous beings,
Whose skin as coal.
But their masters' as snow.
How good were they at playing that game called slavery
With the then blindfold blacks.

Oh! Mama Africa.
Behold how fantastically majestic
You look on your throne.
Crowned by the sun
Some millennia back.
With your other five associates
exhibiting some kind of curtsy.,

[...] Read more

poem by Solomon Dankwa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!