Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
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.
Kabelo Maverick May 2017
...the most difficult
thing in this existence,
still remains the simplest...
Happy Africa Month
Dominique Simeus Mar 2022
I. Death of the Phoenix
Dear Mama

Falling stars, moonlight dark, red torches spread
Ere dawn of day, far over river deep
When in the lads the dares of fancy fame
Oft they quested to waking fortunes’ sleep

Sweet aroma of summer breath afar
Soft waving hair and likeness sunny guise
And stillness in the gaze like ocean hues
‘Twas lambent Pearl, the radiant crown ‘neath skies  

‘O rose of blues slowly drained the silent seas
When looting’s Muse had wed the maiden Pride
That raged against the rising of the sun  
To fall and fall in servitudes denied

Down empty streets where humble stations stood
Though heads bowed down, the broken wills undone
Hailed supple hopes, but midst the hopes, avowed
The oppressed bride and aim that cannot run

Ah, the sky is clear, Oh, the mourning doves
Out of the seas came out the knightly steeds
With faces stained red and blue, rode amain
The crimson shores of those in wants or needs

Then came the billows’ mists o’er unrest land
With thunders’ roar and freezing cold decades
Lone in despair, no Beacon, close or far
Alas! Alas! The unloved lost in fades

‘O gleeful hymn once roamed untrodden grounds
Beyond the gates of wraths and shades and fears
Now skims the air whilst nightingales diffuse
Lest fetter to wills of avarice’s Peers

‘O swirling darkness, drowning bleakness state
Like waves of tears that burst from heart of ache
On pyre of flame delight, by now grows dim
Consumes with shameful scorns, doze unawake

‘O woe betide my dream and I
My aim, my soul, my credo die
                                                             ­                Your Dying Daughter

II. The Phoenix Shall Re-Rise
My Beloved Child

Let heav’n light rest upon twin rivulets
And cast returning glow on worried cheek
Let lively hope return sweet virtuousness
And stop the weeping weep of small and weak

Whence softly rave the words the leafy grasped
Whilst few amid rich flowers, woods, and fields
Summoned daydreams in oppressed sleeps to wake
In painful stoic with neither swords nor shields

Methinks if this had happened not, perchance
That beauty rare would echo still in tune
And wits like wings in varied raptures ‘d fly
With idle dread ‘til reach the waning moon

By the placid Rivers, like ores of rare
That made the riverbeds mirroring sun
The crafty trails, the vermeil meadow pawns
Where hostages to priceless glints had fun

Ponder awhile on those invective Streams
When weary hopes sought access into soul’
Which knew no moist, but moist of falling tears
Arose amid sweet rainy boon parole

‘O brave Angel to whom the homage paid
When shades of freedom, death, unity, strength
Aloft the hills, albeit the odds were few
‘Til resilience and prowess at full length  

‘O silent mute on which misery lies
The brazen proud, the humble roots stretch still
Whose keen presence the flood and storm esteem
So firm and deep, anon to aims fulfill’  

Tree that blooms from river blood, time is nigh
For solitude that hides near shimming lake
To burst aflame from remnants of the now
Like phoenix sunned in ashen dust awake’

Oh, then, I’ll dream that dream once dreamt
That latest dream few've ever dreamt
                                                          ­                                   Love Ma


III. One Moon
Dear Beacons

Come midnight ghosts that slide along the yards
Call exiled forth, and haggle for their quests
Where leering eyes at nightfall gate ignore
Arising slain yearn newness’ lives abreast

From tortuous routes and wave to wave to shores
Where skies no longer bright and glad deceive
No gentle fair nor answers to hold dear
When pride depressed to swirling hopes believe  

Relume the gold of havens found
Cast shadow aping’s frowns to ground

Then, from sweet unrest, twilight world will rouse
To peaceful fields, and cool of breezy night
O’er which clouds float and run, whilst dancing stars
Adorn. And lo, the moon is full and bright

                                                         ­                                     Amor Fati,
                                                           ­                                   Alkebulan
1 Corinthians 11:5
"But every woman that prays or prophesies with
her head uncovered dishonors her head: for that
is one and the same as if she were shaven."

As she prays her head's in praise
She meditates and her alignment is what has them prey
Her hair is worn in algorithms
So you see a circuit board or mother board  of a new age black unknowing
Algorithms aligning her soul with the spirit's accord - they will try to abort
So they make her wear hair of trimmings like when  lands split
So soon she'd forget the fist of her Alkebulan print
Her hat covers the map to the heavens where she'd captain, from braids to the afro we find terraces of the cosmos...
 I see the keys of the piano and then I know that music is the language in which the verses union the Source wrote

Woo a man with womb and bring man's seed forth to expand the clan
Conscentise the concave mind to open eye to the cosmic kind
Patterns of pathways a patent, paintings on hide of dinoaours latent
But her hair is worn high and that's not esteem, instead it's a yellow thigh
Stereo paging on the cell telephone to tell her she's a foe to sink all your woes and curb them with her ******* and wrap you in her steatopygia.
But in her hair her head they would embed things the black gods would dread and then a set for the silicon concept, a new tribe is bred
  And to be fair is the paler hue rather than the iridescent swarthy tune
And we're globed in a speherical rationale where a flat earth is irrational but the self as a governing god the logical equation
So then we're in a situation
Her hair cannot be antennae because they tan her and fan her to the popular grammar, sentenced to the prison cell of a hashtag. Her real hair is rags and her significance is concealed by an iPhone and a bag.
They say we free but are we really free or modern slaves in a plantation tied with invisible mental chains, prisoned to the  golden fantasies of a spiritual dimension encoded in a book of light
Our ancestors are demonised in the name of
And our God given dark magic is victimized
As a spiritual sin to an invisible alien sky God
They enforced brutally on the true God's of Alkebulan
Are we really free when spiritually we are still conquered
Will the God who created us fight for us or against us
They took our land
They ***** our women
Took our wild stock
For themselves
And killed our men
Sailed some of the boys
To the new world
Through the altantic
Where some of them were served
As food to creatures of the ocean
Some drowning themselves
For freedom in the spiritual world
Our mother we're left
Widowed & pregnant
To innocent souls
Committed painful sinfully
Tell me are we free when we went trough such
Without reparations
The Jews got it for ******'s genocide
And others they managed to rebuild
Tell me are we free
Are we free when the DRC is still being exploited
For her minerals & it's war all over
Are we free when the Arabs claim Egyptian history as theirs and opress the true dark pharoas
Are we free when Sudan is in the mist
Of a religious war
It Muslims v Christians
Brotherhood no longer matters
Libya is involved in slave trades
Nigeria is troubled by rebels
South Africa is involved in Afrophobia
Tell me Africa are we really free ?
In the Dispora you had Garvey
Malcom X
Dr Khalid
What did you do with them asks
Dr Clarke ?
They took out Nkrumah
Assassinated Lumumba
Victimized Mugabe
& Exiled Zimbabwe from the world
Destroying our bread & basket
Hunger became a ghost that haunting
The people of Zimbabwe & still does
They Killed Machel
& So died the future of a prosperous Mozambique
They silenced Gaddafi
& Libya became a war Zone
So died the dreams of a United Africa with him
lied about Idi Amin
Shaked Ethopia
Failed in Somalia
And institutionalized the most
Punishious & brutal regime
To the people of the South
Tell me Africa are we free when heavent really dealt with all this trauma
Tell me Africa are we free ?
Tell me are We free ?
Or are we still in *******
#Africa

— The End —