To he who rules me
To he who grooms me
The one who steers me
Me his son
The son of the
Rivers, the valleys, the glens
Of Africa
My mother.
I who drinks from her fair veins
Eats of her breast and sleeps of
Her calls
Calls from her pores cooling me:
I who smiles from her suns
And sobers of her moon
I find paths of her eyes
And wisdom of her gate ways
Drums and groans
Cries and moans
Bites and beatings
Songs and sorrows
From greed, greens and greetings,
A woman’s pride is her hair
A mother’s jewels is her breast
Her waist is her identity
Her womb her sword soldiers:
Protectors’ projectors:
All poisons, gladly and eagerly
Destroyed
Cut off, all of it nothings
Pull off, all of it meaningless,
Stripped off.
He li-lies
Kings queens princes dancing
Pot naked and it naked
It shines clattering for her own blood.
Bling-bling blinding
All who see naked,
Your mother,
My queen black
Of her sons’ greens of greed,
Stripped off
Cut off
To nothing but shame, pain and neglect.
I present to you your mother my king!
