I’m the very ground that bear graves of jewellery of gods,
I’m a window in heights that stares from a canopy of my mountains,
I’m a crystal that flows with silence riddles in the veins of my rivers.
A complexion of my sands dews is in the palm of a hand my deserts express,
My pipit hair is the endless seen of a carpet in a colour of grass across my belt,
A Black coal that brew diamond in a gut of my earth give my complexion a name.
Tears that loves me dripless from the heights of my waterfalls,
An the joy of my being is a dance to drums at the feet of elephants,
To audience of hornets the story of my horn is sung in the scars of my caves.
I’m a pregnant womb that breaks its water on a face of my fertile grounds,
I’m that breath that cracks spores of pimples to bear life to the tree of marula,
I’m a drunken celebration of autumn that awards leaves gold and grass its age.
I’m a mosque that cracks tear that breath life to tongues of my congregates,
I’m the cool couch that only rivers that are scared in my dimples can heal,
I’m the black coal that sings, sings and sings tongues across the Sahara.
My straggles are at the hands of greed, my guts are a wealth of a planet,
Hands that bleed in slavery its prints are on range and range of skyscrapers,
The very civilisation is built with logs of my hair and hand of my children.
Oh ... yes... I’m Africa.
My name is Malawi, I am Mogadishu and I’m definitely Africa,
My complexion is in Bolobedu and my height is at the feet of Masaya.
I’m a gorge that crafted a face of being that is human, a foundation of intelligence,
I’m an unacceptable farm that breaded life to a womb of Eve,
I’m the grave riddled with puzzles that is drawn with the name of Adam.
I’m a soul that breathe love in the wind of sword that haul hate,
I’m a face that has seen a pit of snake that hated the skin my continent wears,
I’m an endless sight to generations and generations of ghost souls of slaves.
My tail is that of a slave that need to be adoption in a hand of my dictators.
My rivers flow with blood of souls that know no praise in songs of my freedom,
My tears are rain in a shower of guns, oh, yes, I am Africa.
I’m a grave graveyard of war guns, my soul is restless and dying of famine,
I’m lost my face knows not this road my existence is carved on stones of oppression,
My feet are chained with a tale of a greedy soul that inherited me poverty.
My chains of freedom can only break in layers but they still stained with greed,
I lead from my pocket and steal from my people to delay their wash from poverty,
I cry in a lyric that melts boulders to butter all in the name of lost souls of heroes.
I’m a voice that sees not your oppressing murderous sick mind as a reason
To bleed death to the soulless blue eyed being that sees redemption as a birth right,
I’m a son of a hand that fed your lips that can only vomit filth of a killer’s imagination.
I am the breaking chain that decorated feet of my ancestors at a gaze of a master,
I am a horizon that exhale a dawn where my kingdom will be dictated by the drive,
A new master marked with a mask that is painted in my loving face, I AM AFRICA.