Fading Pride Poem by Edward Dzonze

The African drum beat
is music no more for my spirit,
I'm listening but i can't hear the rhythm
only the echo from my imagination of sound keeps me nodding,
dancing along to my last memory of a drum beat.
If only the great ancestors of this country
could read my thoughts from 'up there '
They could grant Nehanda her last prophecy,
resurrect her bones in the streets
before hatred and corruption
turns the city into a living hell.

The sacred mountains and curves,
where our fathers played the mbira in supplication to the African gods,
where the African gods
communicated their wishes upon the living
and the living theirs unto the same gods
that have gone quite in the wake of my generation.
Sanctified by our African belief of being;
the mountains and curves
are home no more to my meditation
The African rain
washes away my little faith and reverence
i have for those mountains and curves.
The African government of Africans
summoned the mbira playing to a halt...
turning the mountains and curves into military camps and war zones.

The government troops chasing after the rebels
who rebelled against their governance;
The rebels terrorizing the civilians
for not doing anything against the government's shortcomings
and the civilians on the receiving end
messing up the economy for the government to act up
against the terrorism;
Africa terrorizing Africa...
Africa, a sworn in enemy of Africa...
Africa? ? ? ? ?