Poetry

I do love Africa
and although my predecessors
did pay with their blood
to be able to live here
there is no fear in me
even when shots were fired
as somewhere the signs of the white
is thundered into the ground
as if coming from heaven itself
 
and although some black rises
through the red-brown dust
and is present in drums
when indunas dance with their spears around fires
and although everywhere there are hungry people
that has been broken by poverty,
and people are praying for rain
while the desert is stretching wide
 
I still want to remain in my Africa
as after more than three hundred years
even if culture and language
leaves its own mark
we are without any colour
with the sand being blown by the same winds
and only people,
visitors to this
incredible continent
that does belong to all the children that she brings forth.