Dirge In A Sestina Poem by David N. Munene

Death is prevalent in my continent
I am rarely in any other apparel but black
The hymns are barely short of dirge
News seldom report anything to celebrate
Visitors don’t stay for long
For long is too long to stay

If this be the way it should stay
No one will inhabit this continent
Save for the malice that has been here long
Yearning to devour anything black
Seeking to have no one in the land celebrate
The freedom won through many a dirge

The soloists’ voices croak in the dirge
Albeit they never in requiems stay
They were soloists made to celebrate
The beauty and fortune on this continent
Thanking God for creating them black
And preserving them this long

With skirts slapping winds all day long
Different levels of anguish in the dirge
Swollen eyes battered by a fellow black
Much is done to ensure peace doesn’t stay
On our beloved, once-calm continent
Is there any reason to celebrate?

Baked a cake to my birth celebrate
No sooner had I held it for long
Than a man of my country and continent
Sunk my mood into a remorseful dirge
Evacuating me from my place of stay
Wishing me into the cemetery of the black

My own brother with a skin black
Hurls a machete at me as I celebrate
He makes at my place a forced stay
Eminent greed blinding love for so long
Forcing a blessed land into an eternal dirge
Branding itself the dark continent

Being black has been shamed too long
And Africa forced to celebrate with dirge
But death won’t stay in my continent