She is a parcel of missing letters
Wears a placard of misspelt priorities
Here, they scramble to smash her records

She is frail
Like the shape of broken figurines
She loves the barn next door
But has forgotten to number her yams

She is fed up with lies
And a bloated memory

Tales by moonlight
Mungo Park donated a scoop
That’s how he discovered the river
Call that history!

They crack jokes that rip her skin
And run stitches through the tear in her pores

She is sore
Yet, they sell her balm to soothe her nerves
Again, she runs back to the ditch that swallowed her

Her eyes hatch wars
Her tongue scratch disputes
Call her a caricature

Distance is not a barrier
So, she shuttles to and fro
To buy a slot in the world power

She storms there uninvited
Even though there’s no table for her
Grabs a seat

Her fingers are only used to draw margins
Sign accords that brood discord
With her lips, she cross boundaries

Like a market place
She displays her wares
Yet, they auction her worth for stipends

All she does best is buy power
That leaves her bankrupt
Like a competition, she keeps bargaining her stake

Her name rings a bell
And gets a feature in the chronicles of time
Every line is a slide into agony

As the centre of attraction
She owns a parking lot
Anyone can drive in
And spy on her

Africa is littered with bleeding streets
Filled with the living dead
Decaying mindsets
Fermented leaders
Reeks with the stench of death

At her fireplace
She serves ash on a platter
A dessert of uncertainty
Crunchy in the morning
Stale at noon

Stuck in the puddle of her mother’s milk
She is a chalice overflowing with redwine
Call that blood
Her people drink, stagger, belch & crash
For she is smeared in a drunken stupor

Africa is a scattered flock
Hunted down by preys
Because the shepherd who tends her
Is lost in a deep slumber

Like a burnt offering
She is a shovel away
Store it in her granary

Africa is past fixing
Screw her up
She has no hinge or peep hole
Her stance is perpendicular
Don’t measure her growth
She keeps chasing shadows

They invaded her arsenal
Flattened her walls
Smashed her goods
Emptied her life
Ravaged her fields
Yet, to strip her naked
You must unwrap the husk

Disguised in a cloak of varying colours
Her blueprint is indelible
It’s a game of numbers
She is fast loosing counts

We are expectant
Africa is no longer pregnant
She is long overdue
And currently in labour pushing harder

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