| Africa |
| Africa my Africa. Africa of proud warriors in ancestry savannahs Africa of whom my grandmother sings, on the banks of a 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; the slavery of your children; Africa, tell mii AFRICA. Is this you with back that is bent? with back that breaks under the weight of tribulation? with back trembling with red scars and sayin "Yes!" to the whip under a midday sun?... ...but a great voice answered mii. "Impetuous son, that tree there, that tree, young and strong, infectous in it's loneliness amist the white and faded flowers, that is Africa, your Africa. it grows again, patiently and obstinately, as it's Fruits gradually acquire, the bitter taste of Liberty." |
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