01-06-2016, 10:01 AM
0
poem: AFRICA
poet: DAVID MANESSI DIOP
Africa my Africa
Africa of proud warrior(shujaa) in ancestral Savannah,
Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the bank of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins
Your beautiful black blood that irrigate the fields
the blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this you, this back that is bent
this back that is breaks under the weight of humiliation
this back that trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday far sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous son that tree, young and strong that tree there
In splendid loneliness amidst white and faded flowers
That is Africa your Africa
That grows again patiently,.obstinately
And its fruit gradually acquires
The bitter taste of liberty
poet: DAVID MANESSI DIOP
Africa my Africa
Africa of proud warrior(shujaa) in ancestral Savannah,
Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the bank of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins
Your beautiful black blood that irrigate the fields
the blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this you, this back that is bent
this back that is breaks under the weight of humiliation
this back that trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday far sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous son that tree, young and strong that tree there
In splendid loneliness amidst white and faded flowers
That is Africa your Africa
That grows again patiently,.obstinately
And its fruit gradually acquires
The bitter taste of liberty