ANOTHER AFRICA

Africa has become a grey haired toddler
on her mother’s broken back
whose many pampered thoughts
make for owned clanging chains

Africa whose cry was strong
at early birth on crown’s night
only now drinks the infant milk
from soured breast at nipples grave

Africa has lost her coloured face
in the drunken scotch of timely mesh
and staggers amongst faint inanities
where cowries are stones at road sides

He loved her
but she lied
and only asked:
“what have you done for my
father who brought me forth, and my mother who holds me still?”

and then these maiden men
singing praises of
their many manly maids in mass contortions not like the harmattan wind

Africa bears not her own burden
but is frozen in delightful myrrh
where her native strength of old
is far sunk in wintry cold.

-Kenneth Christie-Atiti.
©2017.