Africa's Glory - Poem by Masa MbathaOpasha
I long for Africa’s glory
A story that swells from earth to sky
A deep slow liquid beauty
A spell of rest, a quiet breath, a jungle born melody.
I am in need of Africa’s glory
The magic of African gold on my fingertips
A diamond heart that sinks through fading colors of platinum
The richest continent in minerals, the poorest in human life.
They came and told us we could not own our lands
The Muslims ordered us to give everything to Allah
The Christians suggested to donate our possessions to God
Each taking everything for themselves, leaving Africa to die.
The world seems to ignore the origin of its wealth
The fretful riches, bitter tainted wonders of creation
The mighty rhythm, the subsequent stillness of the Sahara
The over quivering limbs of children waiting for death.
I think of uranium, iron, bronze, copper and silver
The most precious stones floating in a moon-green pool
Your human treasures old and new that flow around
To heal the poverty of an honestly greedy mankind.
No center of all centers, no core of cores
The plain arrogance to know more than we deserve
Stupidity self-enclosed, growing sweet
In the political minds of our Darling super leaders.
Billion stars go spinning through the night
Blazing high towards the furthest universe
An endless space where thick fluids illuminate your peace
The omnipotent presence that will be when others are no more.
Africa’s story, the vast dunes of the desert hiding the silent tears
A rude, violent anger that spells the syllables of my name
The ancient rich rivers of the Nile, the wild Congo and the Zambezi
The ancestors of Kilimanjaro and the Drakensburg Mountains.
I want Africa’s glory
A song to fall like water on my head
A healing dream to raise the tired dead
Self pronouncing words flushed on my trembling lips like Pentecost.
Comments about Africa's Glory by Masa MbathaOpasha
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe