I am mother Africa, a product of the Savannah.
My breasts have fed 54 nations and raised
I am a hand crafted masterpiece.
The polymer clay statue that rests in the heart
of the Motherland.
I am mother Africa, beautifully created.
Home to various flora and fauna,
streaming clear water, breath-taking
scenery, beautiful people and amazing
I am mother Africa, my beauty is personified.
Flowers ornate my vast lands, the wind
whispers my name in a prelude in reference
I am diversity. Beautifully fashioned in
decency and respect.
I walk in moral fortification with my head
up because I am resilient.
I am Mother Africa, a historical museum.
Slavery describes my name and ashes of
stigma are plastered on my dark skin to
remind me of my plight.
My images are tainted by the media.
My problems are celebrated, my
progress is ignored.
My children’s nakedness is exposed,
and my dirty linen is scattered all
over the world to be mocked, and
I am just a product of bad publicity
and encouraged ignorance.
Branded by many because of my
deep, rich culture.
Labeled because of the way I speak,
smooth never loud.
My African accent rolls swiftly out
of my mouth like an echo, resonating
to the sound of the talking drum.
I am mother Africa, a rising woman
with spiritual wealth.
A strong fortress standing tall even
through the storm with unfaltering faith.
I smile like sister sun in the presence
bottlenecks and harsh realities created
by humanity because cruelty merely
grazes upon my surface.
I am the unglorified warrior working
the heat of the sun like a mule.
The fierce lioness roaming areas, far
and wide just to feed her young ones.
I am mother Africa, celebrated
every day with music and dance,
art and Poetry.
A treasure, a cauldron of hope.
Ever rising, never losing faith.
I am Home.