African Sunset: How Their Choices Make Our World Bleak Poem by Edward Dzonze

Hate is what makes the African world bleak
Hate amongst one black
Black brothers in parliament who bow down before their ego
The African flag is up in flames
The gun shots we hear everyday do not come to solve a thing
What does it matter to count the dead bodies in the streets
Remember the gun shots only come to confirm anew our fears,
There will be more blood shed in Kinshasa
if the rebels doesn't submit their rebellion to the government of the day

Politics is their game, even the gun is not to blame
Who cares who gets hurt, nobody lives with the shame
When it happens to my Africa it doesn't happen to them
The Africa i speak of is a victim of their political manipulation
I speak of brutalized Africa that is tired of their brutality,
I speak of an intimidated Africa that is tired of their intimidation
I speak of a tormented Africa that is tired of their barbarity,
I speak of a divided Africa that is tired of their hatred and greed;
Packaged premeditated propaganda purposefully polished and prescribed
to the people to pursue the same political poison
served on the political altar holly communion to the grieving streets
Do not bother to open the Bible
they have got poetry lines that pleases the politician and save the parroting poet from the stinking prison

Where are you Addis Ababba, the land of our dreams
What happened to the African sun that shamed
suppression and oppression in the wake of colonialism
This one is for you Nyerere and Kaunda-
You saw the dawn, you both saw the sunrise
Rebellion and sanctioned protests the new world order in Africa,
Is rebellion the cause of the tragedy in the Darfur, Kigali and Younde
Show me where from comes your bloody tears Mogadishu, Maidiguri and Kampala
I saw the political reign of Mugabe the nonagenarian
He swa the sunrise, he lived the brighter days and he saw the sunset
Tell it to Africa Mugabe
Is it about the land or the bejeweled political end,
Tell me who sips the blood of all the political victims we continue to bury on the African turf

Mandela and Nkwameh Nkrumah wanted the United States of Africa,
Is that it Kenyatta...
We saw them terrorize Gaddafi on our own backyard
I watched in tears the American soldiers
taking the African flag for a mop to wipe away the dirty African blood
that made their American eyes itch and sore
Not that i sympathize with the grave of Gaddafi
or his unsanctioned thirst for human blood as they saw it
With these my eyes i have seen and tasted xenophobia,
My father survived Gukurahundi and still got scars to show for the tragedy
I don't know if my sisters are still alive with the Boko Haram extremists
In all this, i sympathize with the fate of the African blood
Politics being their game, even the gun is not to blame
Sprouting civil wars the immediate measure to our African civilization
Who care who gets hate, nobody lives with the shame
When it happens to my beloved Africa it doesn't happen to them

Let the poem breathe life into our shared madness,
Let it bleed for the wounds we can't contain
let it bleed and shed a tear if the people can't attach the madness to the blackness of their being
Let the black brothers in parliament play loud some jazz music in their trendy Merc
if that goes along with the color of their world
I will be singing songs like these from the African corridors
until their official mandate finally gets to meet our befallen predicaments in the streets
Surely the sound of a fired bullet is not the music we desire
Please don't take much from their skin color, it's never about Africa when they fart in public
They can make peace reign if they can observe the African flag
before they choose to honor their greed
The warring flame marauding the African flag is a choice they made on our behalf,
They could have stamped out the cigarette stub after a royal smoke
but they chose instead to watch it live to spark a flame
a ferocious flame that grows beyond their political heights
Unfathomably so, what peace only demands of them is just a political will
I'ts for them to strike a chord and for us all to dance accordingly
They can choose to make the wound heal
but it's never their blood that's how peace is never in their minds
We want them to silence the gun shots
With their right hand they motion the military to get militant
yet still their left questions the flow of the drama
Watching through the window innocent citizens running away from a fired bullet