Nov 23, 2021, 12:39 PM
I had been shrugging it off.
For decades I have been shrugging it off.
In us, I realized that it’s imbued with mental images;
Translated in real images.
We are made to believe that the black is cursed.
That it is a force
That must be treated with an external force,
So it will remain accursed.
The tragedy of Africa...
This implanted idea by the so-called masters and their cocky minions
Even in this 21st century keeps ringing in our opinions.
And I vehemently protest against this damn onion.
An African to his fellow:
“He’s black and incompetent.
His mind is not calculative.”
This is the voice that echoes wherever;
A voice that echoes whenever
And on our fate whatever.
You were slapped by these trampling forces
And you still slap yourself for those forces.
Aren’t you shame about the whole drama without foreshadowing?
The whole drama without flashbacking?
We have had a spectrum of priorities
Since pre- and post-independence yet we only theorize the theories
Without implementing those enthused theories.
For centuries you still can’t be that desired bundle but a stick.
A stick that you know can be broken by another mere stick.
And this is what they use to galvanise the gangs within those sticks.
In all to create cracks and crash your lofty dreams by your own sticks.
Even diamond dealers can’t converse without mentioning your name.
Geographers can’t describe their third-listed planet without mentioning your water bodies’.
Historians can’t narrate the beginning of almost every story without your name.
Scientists can’t succeed in their mission without your goodies.
Yet you keep slumbering at your own peril
Whilst you know its peril.
Your beloved sons and daughters have been stuck by your tail of shame.
A shame you can shake up but you refuse to shake it off the shame.
Still you wipe their tears’ to rescrub those fresh wounds unashamed.
First redefine your manners
Followed by your offspring of thugs’ manners
To better this continent of blessed yearners.