Traces Of My African Origin Poem by Sicelo Sithole

Into this journey of years, I wait to see the traces of my African origin
I write freely from this ark waking the essence of my dark life and sin
I swallow all white skins tearing my concerto from the roots where I begin
Like a verse from an epic made by a black hand, I feed from this starving bin
I pour all the glittering melody lost upon the voices; black, noble and keen
In these values made of old pieces of indignity, I pour all my ambitions unclean
I rest upon valleys of dead bones, a consign where all my thought use to glean
From the silent beats of my modesty, into hearts of the precursors of this spleen
I lay freely from my scenery of thought. I glide into the past mold by a timid dean
Into the void and pride of my lost origins, I rise in praise of this puzzling spin
In this land now full of torn emotion and maladies pending in folds and full blast
I rest upon the waters of the fresh heat born from these mountains prized for lust
In all the visions sold, I lay my life to be cast to the origins of this white gust
In the silence of my African origins, I cast all misery into the shadows of the past