Friday, 26 April 2013

Bleed and heal

A land so fair yet her people's hearts are wroth with pain. Pain whose pangs are evident in the hunger and illness Mother Africa's children suffer daily. Ailed by violence her children cry out, yet their cries fall on deaf ears. Perhaps Mama's children speak a language undecipherable to the rest of the world. Perhaps the weary cries have become all too familiar, rendering what they resound, to be of no consequence.  A land where possibilities abide in abundance, yet her fertility is eroded by tears awash her countenance.
Africa bleeds, I bleed, does anyone hear?

A gaping wound long inflicted
Festering with a puss my all corrupts
Resistance rising mingled with blood
Tears long shed their meaning lost
Voices choked to silence by lies
The wound throbs a broken wince

Galleys abreast where hope once laid
Draining with them substance to enrich
Barrenness dousing the desire to birth
Offspring a mere figment of dreams past
Aflame with yearning yet to possess cannot
The wound throbs a feeble wince

Thrones upon rolling hills manicured
Watered by sweat from children spent
Songs of praise turned venomous slander
Thundering feet unable to dance so plunder
Melodies once known long forgotten
The wound throbs a stifled wince

Gagged by toxins through scarred veins
Looking unto scales unjustly inclined
Paying a price dear for which is owned
Hands tied by inequality dipped chords
Disinheriting and stripping rightful heirs
The wound throbs alighting defiance

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