—–“Son of Africa”—–


—–“Son of Africa”—–

I am that son
born to a seed of a gatherer
yes, a gatherer of many hopes
of wild fruits and mushrooms
into the womb of a hut
yes, a beautiful charming hut
of hopes of a warrioring village

The drums that spoke my name
the soothsayer that played divinity
at the call of my cries
the priest that danced to my destiny
the farmer that gave me a grasscutter
the hunter that gave me a tortoise shell
and the mother that caressed my feet
still dine with my soul
inside the upper chamber
of the chief’s palace

Son of Africa
soil among soil
the clay that reveals his colour
among the nineteen mud houses
yes, I am that little flaming tongue
imbued with the tales of old
I sing to hunting birds in the forest
I feast with crimson owl feathers
yes, I smile at the giggles of
a dark night’s dancing moon
and still I am a humbled loyal herbalist

Fate, graced in sage of old
tongue of a chiefdom
a soul carved into a palanquin
royalty sings at my feet
I play the game of wits with elders
yes, a game of wits and wisdom called, “oware”
a breathing soul birthed from the core
of incantational flying cowries
and behold, I wear my priestly robes
of a lion’s heart and cheetah’s hide

When sunset and night falls
when rains beat the thatched rooftop
when eagles perch and whisper
when men wrestle each other
at the heart of the village
yes, when beautiful maidens
dances before Kings and Queens
of a night that breaks her fist
of seven market days
and o’ behold, behold
am driven by the sand
and made to smile for the reveal
of that family mark on my left cheek
yes, am a son of Africa

As proud as a new born star 
calm like the rivers of the gods
silent like a chief’s sandals
yet my tongue is filled to it fullest
like a linguist’s staff
true woven soul from the earth
of the 9000 goddesses of the west
and of the sweat of the 7000 gods of the east
I walk with my amulet
braced to the calf of my black skin
yes, an amulet of protection
of braveness and spiritual fortification

Africa is my home
Africa a home of my soul
and behold, o’ brethren behold
Africa shall rise
she shall speak before night dies
she shall make the rippling waters calm
Africa is born in me
and I born inside her spirit
I am the singing son of Africa

The Village Thinker © 2014


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