Mother Africa, I see you in dreams
gorgeous, tall,
royal, and adorned
in bright clothes,
and priceless jewels.
I dream through the hole of time.
Can this really be?
I, your curious son,
then transport my dreams
to my knowledge of you,
and again I see you
proud and tall,
posing for artographs
at the foot of pyramids
of Giza,
of Nubia
and on the Great Walls of Zimbabwe.
Tell me, what happened to you mother.
You look so different from the pictures
and but for your face,
I would not have believed that
you are the same person I see in my dreams.
Why did you allow your beautiful clothes,
and your jewels to be stolen
and these rags put in their place?
