Black History Month Poem by Aziz Baako

After being the cradle
Of human kind,
After being the host
Of the greatest civilization
And serving the whole Planet
With its blessings.
Africa is lessoned
To numerous meetings
To repair the fall
Of the Prime Race.

Africans are wasting away
In a way beyond reasons.
AIDS is killing the people
And the Western aids
Are corrupting
The governments,

The wars are causing
Psychological
Effects on the Continent.
The second hand cars
Are chocking the public
To death with mono toxins.

The continent is at the mercy
Of greedy Industries out there
Dumping the waste
Of Industrious nations
In our disastrous nations.

After boasting about some of the
Earliest educational centers
Africans are now following
A curriculum
Design by our rivals
To mould us into the dollars
And cents we are to the
System.

Our greens have begun
To grow again,
We have survived
After the decision and indecisions
Of Governments, scholars, the elite
And the hungry hustlers like Freedom
Roaming the desolate streets,

We have began to realize
The source of our fall

The epitaph of
Our Heroes are now
Illuminating
Our dreams- like
The sun. It is delegating
The fairness that contrasted
The foulness of a system that
Lead us astray.

We are building
Again the pillars that held
The ruins of our old cities,
The ruins of our distorted history.

I can hear a wake up call.
Can you hear a wake up call?
It is blustering in a distant
Distance. It says:

I am black…
I am the ages of man.
I am Djoser, are you aware I am?
I am Imhotep, I design the days,
Of your framed years,

A time that once housed fear.
I am, the head that created
And bargain the Idea
That is running the Western
Ideology..

Listen; listen attentively
To these distant voices,

They are still singing the teary
Tunes of our Independence:
Listen attentively,

“We are the world,
We were the yester-years
Of the world.
We are the today of the world
And we will be
The tomorrow of these
Our world,

We are in the sky reaching
For the brightest star.

We are the energy that holds
Our cold world in its whole.

Our
History’s glittery days are rushing
Back finally, leaping
To take the shroud from the face
Of our dying Race.

After years of being the bread
basket of the earth,
After years of fusion
With the confusion
It has began to rain again,
We have been born again.
And we will remain
There to protect our gains.


(Despair Of Displaced Person series/2007)