Words Of Africa Poem by Albert Boima

O how have I suffered such great graves!
I have been pierced by the swords of my kings
Injected with the liquid of their corruptions
They have rescinded my harmonious names

They have plucked away my treasures,
With every good of mine
Possessed unto themselves as stern,
And given them to foreign sons.

For self-benefits they have sold me to them,
And these Whitefaces treat me anyhow
Just like I was a cow;
To implore each their gem

In their own fathers' land.
I, even I Africa, am replaced for a ring in my destroyers' hand.
I have thought my kings would therefrom free me
But they yet serve them rather than me.

Woe to they that are presidents of poverty!
Wretched are the princes that pervert my people;
Cursed be the prophets that preach tribalism and nepotism;
And wicked are they that set my peoples asunder!