Africa. Poem by Solomon Bright Dankwa

Africa, my motherland.
The home of my forefathers,
Who were as ignorant as children.
But were as industrious as wild beavers.
They call themselves Africans.

Africa.
The land of assiduous beings,
Whose skin as coal.
But their masters' as snow.
How good were they at playing that game called slavery
With the then blindfold blacks.

Oh! Mama Africa.
Behold how fantastically majestic
You look on your throne.
Crowned by the sun
Some millennia back.
With your other five associates
exhibiting some kind of curtsy.,
When they see you swagger
Though they feel to stagger.

Africa.
The land of honey and milk indeed.
The land of money and silk not in need.
Civilization started in Africa.
Victimization altered in Africa.
Nought sought when it fought not.
Rather taught how it thought.

Africa!
A place of haven.
Yet not heaven.
A place of dainty nature.
Yet not in saintly feature.
There ingenious and gifted Homo Sapiens,
Emanates from nowhere.
Animals and green plants,
Emerging from somewhere.

Where was I at that time?
Where were you at that time?
Mama Africa.
God bless you.
And your people,
God bless Africans!