I speak as a child of africa
strip the bark
of the tree
where my bleeding heart
was buried
before i fled
into the waiting night
moisten it
with the lotion
of yielding memories
string with it a harp
carved from the shell
that split
and spilt its doom
in the backyard
of my innocence
skin with it
the drum
that sounds the gaping wound
of the land
yearning
for the patter
of children’s bare feet
i speak as a child of africa
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem