Africa Poem by Dela Bobobee

Once a toddler, I was nurtured
and intoxicated with pure idealism
on the annals of your pristine glories
unpardonable grievances cruelly extorted
by your tryst with those twin brothers
beckoning tasseled packages of promises
dumped abruptly by your sated lovers
who were your deceivers from the start
you cover your nakedness with self-pity
reparations, dignity callously denied.

With tear stained voice I cried foul
like a wounded lion I prowled and lurked.

Now a teetotaler, I trudge the unbiased path of realism
the true foes seen in our own moral vices
heart cleansing hedged, procrastination embraced.

On this lonely crossroad I falter
as the morning sun of reality dazzled
and compelled me to calmly accept with a sigh
the unwillingness of the mirror’s verdict as the truth
an undiluted reflection of your ugly image.

But when I cry myself hoarse
Who will hear my weak voice?

The voice of our unfinished song
The song replete with much sorrow
The sorrow of our heavy hearts
The hearts of our young leaders
The leaders of our tomorrow
The tomorrow of our dear Africa
The Africa, our only true new Africa.

Like a phoenix rising from the crucible of dust
ascend the true throne of purged conscience.