Who buys my thoughts
Buys not a cup of honey
That sweetens every taste;
He buys the the throb,
Of YoungAfrica's soul,
The soul of teeming millions,
Hungry, naked, sick,
Yearning, pleading, waiting.
Who buys my thoughts
Buys not some false pretence
Of oracles and tin gods;
He buys the thought
Projected by the mass
Of restless youths who are born
Into deep and clashing cultures,
Sorting, questioning, watching.
Who buys my thoughts
Buys the spirit of the age,
The unquenching fire that smoulders
And smoulders
In every living heart
That's true and noble or suffering;
It burns all o'er the earth,
Destroying, chastening, cleansing. 