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