The Second Scramble Poem by Kareem Azeez

First, it was the assimilator.
During the ages of stones and sticks
They came and conquered all of Luanda, Abidjan,
With their jackboots and shady deals
And then some form of asylum
Then the grammarians came too, to the west,
-To my land, first, it was trade, then they took it by force,
-To develop, to make us grow, and make our eyes
More open, so they say
This was some hundred plus year's ago...before my great-grandfather was born

The black man was left alone to mature
To love himself and put his house in order
And understand why it shouldn't go in circles
The black man was taught it need trade, not aid
So they put its continent in its place,
From the west to the north, the south and to the east
They all left their footprints on the black man's sand
No matter how he scratch, its wound becomes deeper
And ages after, the black man can not stand alone
And bullets upon bullets were their rains-
Hatred upon hatred, for his kinsmen
Greed higher than the explorers,
For the black man is the oppressor of the Blackman
So he twitches and screech alone in the dark

Times have gone dynamic,
And the freedom fighters have become wise
That land is fantastically corrupt,
We shall aid them instead of trade with them
Their wealth shall come back to us anyway
The black man's land is juicy,
Filled with all to keep the world in existence
Their future we shall harbor here
In form of desperate journeys,
To develop them we shall lie,
And to them, they shall willingly give us their souls

The west,
Down to the east,
And north and south, the scramble has begun
For a second time, and shall be so, till eternity waves at us,
The black man is not ready to decide, because he enjoys being ruled
Too divided to see the destiny
Soaked in hatred of his brother to remember strangers shall take their lands
Too greedy, to remember death shall come for us all
Too down to even remember there's a place call up-
The fight may be lost, even before it starts
The second scramble is not force, but willingly.