Black History - Poetry

Lets celebrate the Month of Poetry and Spoken Word...

This one is called Black History

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They call us the mother race but they doubt we'll figure out the maze,

Yes, they call us the king of spades but they are the ace,

They say they rever our age but laugh in our face,

They call our prestige and knowledge a mirage,

With a cross they barged in;

Our dignity and valour they caved in.

Calling us uncivilized whiles they rid us of our civilization,

With liquor and a mirror they came,

Along with our gold and African vigour they went,

Dragging us over the strange tides;

Stinging us with weakness and taking our "strong",

For the ancient beauty and richness we long.

How then can we put our noses in the air?

Chest out and sing of our swords and stools?

Our palm wine and soups,

Our ahenemma and taboos,

Now we swing around like naked baboons;

With no shame.

We strip down our image from the flag pole,

And act cool like a slut wid no name,

Africa is now a hunter with no game,

Africa is a student with no aim,

A rapper with no fame.

Africa.