In The Heart of Africa

In The Heart of Africa

Africa knew how to communicate her way 

Africa knew her dance and how to publish her own news

Many days around bonfire , our stories entwined to transform 

Our gods were strict and sin was less

Our fathers feared , because of Death 

And then nothing was rebirth.

Her gold, her coast, and her home become their host for colonial rule

Suppressing our norms , defiling culture, and making us their sub gods

In antiquity, our deities exacted fealty,

Their wrath, a specter that instilled trepidation,

For in their eyes, transgression was anathema, the suppressor 

And mortal fear of demise held sway, an omnipresent theme.

Yet, in the aftermath of life's extinguishment,

A void ensued, devoid of rebirth's promise or solace,

A desolate expanse, unyielding to hope's entreaty.

Then, like a tempest, foreign powers descended,

Their avarice and ambition, an insatiable, ravaging force,

That laid waste to our patrimony, our hallowed shores,

And reduced our ancestral homeland to a mere vassal state.

Our customs, once sacrosanct, were desecrated,

Our traditions, distorted, and our culture, debased,

As the colonizers imposed their dominion, unyielding and severe,

And we, the subjugated, were remade in their image, our essence impaired.

Thus, we became minor deities, relegated to a lower plane,

Our autonomy, usurped, our identity, effaced, our dignity, in chains.

In this manner, our world was reshaped, our destiny, redefined,

And the reverberations of that era, still linger, a haunting, mournful refrain.