SON OF THE DARK CONTINENT

The African Child,
Great a warrior,
Triumphs over the huddles of
Growth, education and economic survival
Born to the disillusionment
That all Black is black
That all White is white
But why the blame for the African identity?

The African Child
Whose home he dreads the most
Whose home they love the most
Those whose invasion was
But in the name of enlightment
A desert it is to him,
A treasure chest it is to them
Those who brainwashed and blindfolded us
In a despicable transaction
Our lives and traditions for a title, ‘Sir’.

The African Child
His endurance for these tribulations
Is a storm in a tea cup
For the remedy lies in the key
The key placed in the book
The book he cannot read!
Dear Africa ‘iqraa’. READ.
©Atwine Mugisha