Tossed Africa

Still thoughts in silence.
Questions flow stronger than ocean currents.
If I could cut a piece of my skin,
Toss it into the open sky,
Would dark thunder clouds tell the colour of my skin?
Beat indigenous rhythms of song and dance onto the earth.
Produce sounds that tell stories of the unknown past.
If I could mold all that is African,
Toss it into the open sky,
Would the motherland tell its hidden tales?
Run my fingers through the river waters.
The cold and emptiness I felt in it.
If I could see the real ingredients of that water,
Toss it into the open sky,
Would it fall down as the tears of my people?
Shot after shot, gush after gush.
Blood all over beautiful loving hearts.
If I could stop that bullet and stop that knife,
Toss them into the open sky, Could it be possible to identify the source of violence?
Plants in mother's garden,
Animals grazing in father's game-farm.
If I believed that its all this continent had to offer,
Toss my stereotypes into the open sky,
It would all rush down because Africa refuses to be tossed around.
Copyright.(c).(2009).CLK PHAKEDI.All Rights Reserved.