AFRICAN HANDWRITING

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*A Poem about Africa writing its own history*

by Nyirongo Gift

Emery Patrice Lumumba

The true number plate of African freedom fighters
The truth really matters

You were a visionary man
Fighting against all odds from the light skinned man
They setup an assemblage
So they could throw you in a cage, no
Your serving as a Prime Minister was a dalliance
Was it because of your overwhelming eloquence
Or the knowledge in you that was so exuberance

They had to set you up in an imbroglio
I cry every time I think of this memorial

The help you gave to Africa
Cry mother Africa
The lagniappe they could give you was a shot in the head
Executed by the repugnant firing  squad
I still hear your susurration
With such a vestige, it was not a tranquility of a situation

They tossed your body in acid
They felt contented
Having grown now I feel the contractory
I feel dejected every time I think of this history
All I feel is pain I hate the way they tortured you
Now I write with tears in my eyes, so doleful

Your bones they collected and grouped them up
It is an indignant of a situation you stitched it up
The gods of Africa left in melancholy
The history of Africa, engraved in you glory
Your bones blown away with the minds
The wound is still fresh in our minds

After all the said and done
Your spirits are with us , and we will get it done
As Africa we remain open minded , audacious
Call us arrogant for the truth we have, bumptious

Even though we remain amorphous
Our future is zealous
We may be languid
We have the echo of an African drum in our mind
An Epiphany of a story
Africa is writing its own history