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.