One may not have the time to take in a novel, but African poems can take us to places the poetry wants us to see in a short time. We can experience food,
scenery and spirituality through African poems. The poetry can inspire the reader to learn more about the different cultures, and countries in Africa. It can also
intrigue the African-American to want to know more about the African part of themselves. African poems can call us to awareness, or simply call us home. This
is the power of poetry. As one reads it begins to deal with the soul of the reader in ways they never imagined. Furthermore, the poetry can challenge different
stereotypes that have been created about counties in Africa. The reader can get a chance to view various counties, and their people through the eyes of a
native. One may find this perspective to be profoundly different that what as been told. Poetry had always had a way of making people, places and things
Investing time in reading African poems is one that can enrich the reader. In the lines of the poetry we are also introduced to various aspects of African
struggle, and resilience. The reader might see themselves in the lines, or a possible solution to challenges they face. In some cases the reader walks away with
renewed sense of hope. Introduce yourself to African poems, and experience the passion of various people.
Over the white seas
rime white and cold
took her young daughters
sold her strong sons
churched her with Jesus
bled her with guns.
Thus she has lain.
Now she is rising
remember her pain
remember the losses
her screams loud and vain
remember her riches
her history slain
now she is striding
although she has lain.
Threshed out by beaters, the long rushes break
In a white dust of ibises whose cries
Have wheeled since civilizations dawn
From the parched river or beast-teeming plain.
The violence of beast on beast is read
As natural law, but upright man
Seeks his divinity by inflicting pain.
Delirious as these worried beasts, his wars
Dance to the tightened carcass of a drum,
While he calls courage still that native dread
Of the white peace contracted by the dead.
Again brutish necessity wipes its hands
Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again
A waste of our compassion, as with Spain,
The gorilla wrestles with the superman.
I who am poisoned with the blood of both,
Where shall I turn, divided to the vein?
I who have cursed
The drunken officer of British rule, how choose
Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?
Betray them both, or give back what they give?
How can I face such slaughter and be cool?
How can I turn from Africa and live?