[Source]
(https://images.app.goo.gl/pEGyCJASuaFjhwYS9)
Fear of the unknown
Sip in through my pores
As you murder my very own
Not with guns, not with bows.
We are murdered gradually
In constant cultural readability
Permanently deleting our existence
From the face of mother Earth.
After here I doubt our traces
The African in us is murdered
Her culture is endangered
Where are the good days of yore?
The ebony skin is traded
In bleaching insanity
Her tongue is swallowed
By incoherent alien tongues
"No vernacular, please".
Is all I hear...
I tread the length and breadth of mother Africa
Seeking my lost identity
The songs that blend
With the chirping of the African Nightingale
Are eroded into Rocks and Jazz
The festival ground is bereft of dancers.
The talking drums and flutes
Play resounding melodies with no dancers
The band of the orchestra is dispersed
All I hear is lustful rhythm
Spreading erotic messages.
I am a wanderer!
I wandered too far from my roots
Now the roots gradually rot
And the boughs wither and shrink
So I return, covered in alien soil
Cleanse me oh Africa.
