Poems about africa

The face of South Africa
Is a multicoloured face
Hair of various ethnicities
Eyes from blue to black
Many languages, dialects and slang
Customs and culture a kaleidoscope

What is a South African?
Can one really define?
Except by the beat in the heart
Of the one birthed in this nation
Or adopted this as home

White, Black, Coloured, Indian, Chinese...
The list goes on and on...

I am a South African

I am carved in scars
In stretches, in mars and imperfections
Blood, sweat, thick skin.
Roots of strength and passion and pride
I will not trade my high mentality for your low approval
I am a queen of Africa

Untamed, virgin hair, color: opaque
Killed, straightened, whitened
Westernized, hypnotized, it's this way or the highway.
Bleached skin, egotistical chocolate, pale skin
Contacts in shades of green, blue, hiding murky eyes
Size 0, size 1, size 3, stop. Hips do lie, only flat and thin.
Push up bras, Barbie breasts, corset waists.
Bikinis, mini skirts, cleavage, to hell with tradition.

I am carved in makeup
In luster, attention and perfection
No longer, blood, sweat, thick skin
Lost roots of strength and passion and pride
I have traded my high mentality for your low approval
I am no longer queen of Africa,
No longer queen of me.

Cracked parched lifeless land
Weak infants's ceaseless crying
A lone owl's ominous groan

Last night I went to Africa. I spent a month there. I know this because I told you. This morning I am exhausted, turned over too many times in sleep and wakefulness as the day gloats over my body. Yesterday's skyline made me dream of lavender forests. In the dreams I took stills of purple and blue bark, papery shadows. I wanted to capture the essence for morning. In the morning I knew I would forget, but the image, or the fleeting, trails in me. I spent a lot of time by a river. Grey mud grows on me. In the mud there is a struggle. At times I would touch myself and find blood. I am not afraid of the scarlet here. The colour is rare and important, but tomorrow will be lost on me. I will be left with the flash of an impression in your arms. When I woke up I wanted to tell you something. A why was stuck in the mud burrowed within me. A new cleft. When I open my mouth I create old wounds in silence. I will spend the next few days trying to cover them in dust. In the dream I walked many miles, and the stairs of a house burn in me. I felt the thoroughness in my legs. Before I woke I squatted in the schoolyard where I told you about it, inspecting the new firmness in my muscles. I realized that I didn't long to impress you. There will be things we never know. There are roads I walked and can't remember now. The earth will not discuss it. Today the light affronts me. I am lost somewhere in Africa where you are not. Today I will not wake up. I will keep remembering the blood. The lavender forest spreads within me. A man will protest it with forgetfulness. I will push against the morning and slide into it. I will always slide into it.

Her hair kinks under the Sahara
Her skin, a tan of permanent summer
The sheer thought of pluck
An untold story
Robbed from her distraught history
Tough luck?
Or maybe manipulated silence

Rattle a sleeping dog
Remind her what it's like
To speak and be heard
To see and understand

She will bring a pen to a sword fight
Her voice to a gun fight
Hoping,
Her voice will attract a dozen senses
Maybe more than a dozen great minds
Her heart beats for this land
Her eyes vision a great future
She is Africa's future
She is Africa!

The white sands of Mozambique
We should go there - you and I
It doesn't have the answers that I seek
But maybe just enough to get me by

The red dunes of the Namib
Reflecting orange and yellow too
It's more lovely that you would believe
Let's be sure not to leave too soon

Here in the Moroccan city streets
They're offering me a minty tea
It goes well with sweet and toasty treats
We should stay here for a few weeks

In a while, we'll trek to Malawi
Kayak on a lake or open sea
See what animals wait over by the trees
This has been a trip that surely can't be beat

There was once a man who's hands were stained with oil
And at church he was taught of being kind,
How it's wrong that men are enslaved and toil
And that God frees all slaves in time.
But he wouldn't give to the poor
-And never found a reason to ask why,
Then he stole gold from the land as never before
And enslaved the lands peoples lives.
But there was once a man that aimed the slaves be set free,
He would speak out in order to save the slaves
And he'd fight for their victory
So that Africa's heart would be saved.
And never ever was the tree to have life again
Until Africa's heart was set free,
He must free the lands people then
From sea to shining sea.
And never ever would the spirits thrive again
Until he led her people to overcome,
Her children must be given life once again
Africa's children must be given our love.

Central Africa
Is being used As a war zone
To keep us away from it
As we can naturally
Fall back into the center of Africa
Whenever feeling unsafe
Like they would recede
To Poland and Greenland
In times of great hot need

They think they have us
All pinned down
With puppet black presidents
That get elected by black people
Only to take advise
From Europe and ignore
African voices
It is a masonic ploy
To keep the greenest
Natural garden of Africa
As war zone
To curtail our movements
And keep us locked up
In small pockets
For the finishing blows

It make no sense
Why the central Africans
Never find their peace
Those green lands
Could be farms
Of food to sell us
And cut high prices
It is a masonic plan
Against Africa
Using trusted leaders

©Taetso JoJo