What is Left of Africa The angry effulgent African sun Stares me down Along Middleway Kabulonga An orderly reflection of an English neighbourhood Lined with luxuriating green leafed trees Not the symmetry you will find in Africa he sighs Far from the chaos you’ll find in Lagos My early morning walk briefly interrupted By his laser like rays examining my thoughts The intensity of his words scald me As my core briefly confluences with the raging furnace of his soul Whose sun am I anyway, he muses Then blazes at me, red rays’ fiery darts of pity Searching for the Africa that is left in me The Lusaka that is left in Kabulonga You are the sun of Africa I retort defiantly Hieratic clenched right fist shaking at the radiance of his doubts The sun of Lagos and Lusaka! You are our sun! I shout, angrily thumping my chest Yet he smiles Sagely His whispered response barely audible Look at you, he sighs Walking down an English road in Lusaka Whose son are you? Before I could muster an appropriate response He mockingly slips away Sagely Still resplendent behind the luxuriant boughs of the tree lined street In what is left of Africa in Lusaka ©Jekwu Ozoemene 2011
Posted on: Sat, 16 Aug 2014 20:23:10 +0000