Your darkness comes into view,
As a sunset opening its arms to the world.
Dark, black, purple, brown,
Living among the depths of the thriving cities,
and misty groves of spices,
beckoning us with their succulent fruit.
“Taste me,” cry the ancestors who whisper into our souls in the night,
Divining traces of yesterday,
Heaving footprints of repercussions,
Singing endlessly of the crimes of passion,
Of each who has wakened
on the secret continent of their forefathers.
Mothers weep as their children,
Watery-eyed, plead for the milk of justice.
Tattered shrouds of kingdoms,
Herald from yesterday,
Golden traces of majesty in a people
from interlopers-- tall and thin-featured,
bright in tone; wicked in determination to change
that which has lived forever
without their God,
their unsolicited judgement,
their brutal upheaval,
and eminent marginalization.
Stand back, listen
to the screams.
Educate the world.
Breath into each learner the true history of the mankind,
as it began on the continent of
kingdoms of learning, wealth, civilization and order.
Do NOT look away when encapsulating the histories of the people of the world,
omitting the riches of our Mother Africa
as she sprang forth great empires, fortresses, science, and systems of civilization.
Leave not Africa from your books,
(your lectures, your projects)
opened to the minds of youth who only know what they are told.
Remind them all from where we all spring,
that we are all descendents,
the Human Race.