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Jan 2017
I wanted to head to the African Union to speak my mind
So I wrote a letter so they could respect my kind
Then I thought maybe if I go to the paper they'd hear me out
Seeing as the newspaper is the bastion of the spectacle
But I got hysterical, as they told me I should come back later
So I voiced my thoughts and pulled out a hailer

Here's the story, the revolution is in labour
Africa is a child who needs hospice, he needs to go to theatre
But many would turn a blind eye so maybe this is a show that should play out in theatre
But maybe that wouldn't be enough so a black story should be told on a white sheet called the cinematic theatre
African child get your 3D glasses and take a moment for some introspection
This is a dedication which needs intrinsic meditation
So instead of fainting, here's a painting
Do you still treasure your body like the gods said you should?
Do you remember the time when the San were working on wood?
Sailing the seas and they would later be called the Grimaldi
They could sail the seas don't believe the whitewashed folly

African Child do you remember your clesetial roots?
Or have you been embossed in the culture of Timberland boots?
Do you still grow your hair for your follicles are receptors like an antenna
Or has the weave been weaved into your scalp so much that you only see white tapestries
Your afro was your beauty and now all you have in your head are glued and knitted seams
Martin Luther had a dream but the only colour that succeeds seems to be the one that gleams

Are we to remain a colonised progeny and have amnesia when it comes to our galactic ancestry
Yet we're quick to receive European ideologies
Soon after that we earnestly accepted American anthologies
And yet we know little of our African anthropology
Have the forgotten ancestors ever received an apology?
For accepting foreign religions and capitalist industry

But no they have all been reduced to slaves, what of our chiefs and sages?
No a millennium African would be quick to skip those pages
Instead we find wisdom when we're in cages
Our ancestors we've put in a box and that's not our original coffin
Through the coffers of the soul you see them in your past lives and they have been trapped in an X-box
Yes they are animated and we are left mentally incarcerated in the television plasma box
You would remember that many who still held the truth were given small pox

So I say on this day, make things of clay
And stage your play of our beginnings - breathing in sun rays
Hold onto to your dread locks for some dread that that so many uneven black threads can lock
Made to believe that whiteness is intelligence and blackness pestilence
Well spell out your excellence in trance states and let them call it deliverance
African child, wake up, the planet needs you
You have been the seed Alkebulan
Way before Scipio Africanus canned us
Rid yourself of these heinous cancers
Hear them the Martian chanters
They are ululating calling out all ascended masters
We feel the sacrifices of the yajamantas
We are one with nature and we bleed with the sun
Rise and grow to unite the world for beyond complexion we are one.
Written by
Nhlanhla Moment  29/M/Witbank, South Africa
(29/M/Witbank, South Africa)   
982
     Lazhar Bouazzi and ---
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