Monday, November 19, 2007


Who did this to you my love?

Who scratched your face

With the razor-sharp needles of war?

Tell me, what happened to your knees?

Did someone force you to kneel on broken bottles?

Ah! I know you can’t speak now

You are too grief-stricken to talk

But I can guess who is responsible.

Aren’t these the self-same guys

Who took away your grandparents,

They who promised you Aid

And brought you A.I.D.S instead?

They, who pretended to wish you peace,

And yet they promote war?

By giving your brothers sophisticated weapons,

And setting them against you?

But you didn’t have to stoop so low my love

As to hurt your knees so.

You didn’t have to beg for what you already have

You should have told them ‘to hell with your loans.’

Because, after all, yours is a house of plenty;

Food, minerals, culture, and heritage,

And… the coveted brains.

And always remember,

Oh! Africa, my love,

They need you more,

Than you need them.

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