By: Bashir Goth

Out of the ashes of a phoenix
A new African phoenix is born
As black and as famished as ever
Carrying the same loads of thorn
The same batches of infamy
Of disease, of wars, of hunger
The same scars in the horn
As politicians to each others whisper
Sweet lies; with no conscience to scorn
As they exhale and praises inhale over dinner
And more ranks to their siblings adorn
Africa stands aloof as distant as ever
As unique as an alien unicorn
Writhing in mounts of litter
Burdened, broken and outworn

O'Africa;
You bleeding mammoth of mother
You vale of tears; of forlorn
Your love is ebbless and silent as a river
Your smile as homely as spring as morn
You cry for us when we in far lands shiver
You sing for us when we are buried and born
You grieve for us when we in your arms suffer
You pamper us when we are tired and torn

O'Africa;
You carcass for every alien scavenger
You open wound to every Jabir and John
How oblivious you are to your Saracean slaver
What a merciful saint you are; what a pawn
To every megalomaniac and messianic vulture
Wasn't it Nkrumah who first saw the throne?
They banished him; I can vividly remember
They betrayed him for few sacks of corn
And after forty years of wines and winter
After lifeless, loveless, long nights of lorn
After decades of the eternal death's encounter
Do I see or do I dream of the first signs of dawn
Oh! No; don't you wake me up brother
No; not to the same howls and horn
Not to the same wolves' prayer
As the new century's lonely lovelorn.