Debut Poem For Africa

I see her,


Covered in red earth

From hair to toe

She sits on the ground

Eyes wide and wild

Wrapper stripped down to her waist

Both hands clutching her sagging breasts

“The soup is cooked,

Everyone is smacking his lips

But let everyone forget the woman

Who got her finger burnt by the firewood”

This she wails,

Tears falling from those large, beady eyes,

Lamenting her sorrows,

Demented with grief

I watch her from the corner of the dusty compound

Sharing in her pain,

But I’m so dry-eyed,

I’m feeling guilty

This is because

I am one of those

Who cause her pains

Who make her cry

I am one of those

Who she would cook her soup for

And I will smack my lips

Forgetting to thank the nice woman for her hardwork

I am one of those

Whom she would educate

But I’ll go abroad

And invest there,

Bull-shiting how she toiled for me

Then I see her

Drying her eyes

With her wrapper’s tip

Because of a vision she would have

I did not know how

But I was able

To tap into her head

To share what she saw with her

I see blurry images

Because they were not formed by me

But I make out her,

Sitting in her royal regalia,

Every thing she wanted,

At her beck and call

I fall back crying,

Having no I idea why I did so,

The she snaps out of it and sees me there,

She beckons to me and I go

And with thew tip of her faded wrapper,

She wipes my own tears.

-Ikpo Henry


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