The fountain Arena

  Africa Africa my Africa Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs Africa of whom my grandmother sings On the banks of the distant river I have never known you But your blood flows in my veins Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields The blood of your sweat The sweat of your work The work of your slavery Africa, tell me Africa Is this your back that is unbent This back that never breaks under the weight of humilation This back trembling with red scars And saying no to the whip under the midday sun But a grave voice answers me Impetuous child that tree, young and strong That tree over there Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers That is your Africa springing up anew springing up patiently, obstinately Whose fruit bit by bit acquires The bitter taste of liberty David Diop

  T he pain that surrounds us do not spare our beloved ones, As we share the same burden and ecstacy together. This fosters  the 'why' that makes our affection lingers. Same goes with our immediate environs, where the natural objects such as rain and the land joins in our anguish party. The metaphoric usage of the desolate land where people weep non-stop is liken to the pain one felt when things goes bad in their most treasured station of abode(land or home). Share in this sensation with the poet as he embarks on the journey of pain together .   The ocean has saturated our land; Carcass of precious sewage inviting Offspring of alphabeta to trade with us  In the annual feast of the eye's flood. Here we are, lords of swollen lashes. Kissing the blended sail of craving pant For decaying ages that shone our nodes Before our first withdrawal was made Click to read  caged  Together we sang duet of scorn From our distance crest In union cries that pierces the skin Sweating myster