19. All your glories, O Africa, are perishing on your heights.
O, how did this happen?
20. Publish it not in the streets of your exploiters,
Those whose love can only enslave you,
Before their daughters compose denigrating songs round your name.
21. O mountains of vain elitism,
May the bloody jewels you wear,
Become hangmen’s ropes around your necks;
And actually behead you.
For it is with those heads that you dream of beheading others,
Robbing us of all good heads.
22. So many great muscles from the soil
Have not returned from the dirty fields
But dived in new soils sometimes by friendly blows.
23. Need I name your loyal slaves?
In life and in death they were African matter.
Their new names ripped their tongues and lips
For fun of the game.
24. O daughters of Africa,
Weep for your heroes,
Those that fed you with proverbs around the harvest fire,
When the forest swung to your tunes of love.
25. But how did we lose those mighty stuff?
No, they sleep on your height, they are not lost!
26. Your eulogies are spoken in my blood.
For if I ever knew love,
You were my first teacher,
My conscientiser.
27. How indeed the mighty have fallen!
I wish you had become a pacifist,
For the weapons from carnal hands will not last!
O, how did this happen?
20. Publish it not in the streets of your exploiters,
Those whose love can only enslave you,
Before their daughters compose denigrating songs round your name.
21. O mountains of vain elitism,
May the bloody jewels you wear,
Become hangmen’s ropes around your necks;
And actually behead you.
For it is with those heads that you dream of beheading others,
Robbing us of all good heads.
22. So many great muscles from the soil
Have not returned from the dirty fields
But dived in new soils sometimes by friendly blows.
23. Need I name your loyal slaves?
In life and in death they were African matter.
Their new names ripped their tongues and lips
For fun of the game.
24. O daughters of Africa,
Weep for your heroes,
Those that fed you with proverbs around the harvest fire,
When the forest swung to your tunes of love.
25. But how did we lose those mighty stuff?
No, they sleep on your height, they are not lost!
26. Your eulogies are spoken in my blood.
For if I ever knew love,
You were my first teacher,
My conscientiser.
27. How indeed the mighty have fallen!
I wish you had become a pacifist,
For the weapons from carnal hands will not last!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Dear Reader, You are encouraged to make your comments as objective as possible for the benefit of other readers.