AFRICA SHALL GLITTER AGAIN-BY OGUNYOMI ISRAEL ABIDEMI

Several strangers, upon many moments,

While through the toughest throat of this scion

They tread, shake heads shamefully –

Mocking in advance, the much expected

Gloomy end of our fatally ill continent.

Some ask and pause:

‘Isn’t this the resplendent earth upon

Which sore sweats of struggle

From gallant nationalists’ armpits

Dripped as dews of dawn?’

Some pause and ask:

‘Isn’t this the sacred altar over

Which adamant martyrs’ blood

Which strove to retrieve brothers’ feet

From the hostile shackles of Albinos’ chains

Were split shamelessly as libation of atonement

To clear complex clusters of colonial claustrophobia,

Which stupefied the cranium of the continent’s cloudscape?

Ah! How come the ball of Africa, pumped-plumed

By the bare arms of political emancipators,

Wobbles woefully amongst tetanic trees of anguish,

Situated dangerously between regional poles

At the crossroads of developmental quagmire?’

But, o wandering wayfarers as the cloud,

Mock not yet with clever rhetoric.

Haven’t you seen those soaring Eagles?

We’ve heard our kindred’s spirits whisper: