—–“The old scar”—–


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——“The old scar”——
(of Africa’s past and present)

Each drip from this skin
each tiny droplet from this forehead
tells a worry and a story
of uncured wounds

The pains of yesterday
are the same pains of today
they seem too fresh this scar
as blood oozes profusely
inside my dejected self

No wonder am still this naked
my shame has been served
hot and toasted to my enemies
they mock me in tidal rejoice
and with remorse, the old scar bleeds again

There is no heaven that I haven’t seen
inside the tales of my dreams
there is no hell that I have pleaded
for her billing mockery
and for thy sake
yet, my umbilical scar still holds deep the wounds

You keep whispering into my ears
those words a saint from paradise would say
you keep sowing inside my heart
those words that could cure leprosy
yet, you lay in hidden stab me from below
and eat my soul from beneath

I made a vow
I sold an oath
to the monsoons
and of the trade winds
that oneday, I shall come home dried
of the tears that still wells in my eyes

You were there when these promises were knitted
I sold my conscience to you
believing a soul from my own womb
would live to recall my days of goodness
but o’ mockery begotten soul
you’ve made my days melanchonic
of days of tears and nights of woes

In spite of all these crudity
I still bear the light of hope
thst oneday, I shall come home
to tell my own story
to rewrite my own tales
not for today’s generation
but for generations unborn
I am Africa—-

The Village Thinker © 2014

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