Roots Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

Who are we? Is the question
That rings in my scruples as I think
Of roots, till a muffled voice echoed

"We are African"

We are Africans
The true reflection of Ubuntu
The Bantu from the western margins
San of the Kalahari, Koi koi of kuvhuki
Who travelled on bare feet
And endured the thorny paths
With the sun overhead,
Its rays amplified
Resulted in the toil
The toil of the quest
The quest of self-discovery
In the southern Sahara regions
An arid, blisters they endured.

Now the question,
Who are we? Still rings in my mind
I thirsty for the answer from my intimates

"We are Africans"

We are Africans
At a verge of impedance
As we have lost the traditional trail
Ethics strained, Morality sent to the guillotine
Customs now ills, tis the scratch of the
Triadic generation.
We have wandered away from the roots
Sexuality and taboos our toys
Dignity impedes as we stride
One step forward and twice the leap back
In defilement of Ubuntu.
Culture diluted by these delusions of grandeur,
Lost in the so called globalization,
Tis a dynamic village of revulsion.