Let me ponder, sea high, sky deep
Barren solace, O child,
That I see an emaciated bone,
Coated in the color of skin, feathered
The raven's hair of dark.
Host of Saracens, dealers in flesh
Chained corpses dragged in sand
Make walls against the ocean, so cheap.
Bought abundance, Bible's page
And in the mud shrines, in spirits,
Africa, your sons, were none the worth,
But an enchanted freedom
Sung by the choral appetites of mothers,
By fathers systematically defeated
By disease and famine. O rich continent,
For you could feed the hungry world,
Or roaring lions, tropical rains,
Ride the tall giraffe, be wings of parrot,
And play the sandy dunes
Bare soles, or walk the grandeur
Of the chieftain's cotton, whitened.
O your ivory, poached,
But your soul alight in the eloquence,
Eyes speak seldom, heart throbs rare.
My untouchable corpse
O divine befells, curses left,
Dragging me through the lines on the map,
A play in the hands, heavy fat,
Black with white rings, and strings.
I shall crawl from the captivity
Of your galleon, to a wide open shore.
-To the children of Africa
Courtesy: My friend Taiwo Soyebo
Sadiqullah Khan
Gilgit
December 4,2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem