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