MISS AFRICA

                   MISS AFRICA

Crying babies

empty bellies,

tongues as blunt as a panga

with echoes of devastating hunger

that ooze from a child’s lips as it holds to its mother’s kanga.

Like oxen pulling on a yoke,

so is the thought of riches when broke

floating on minds like lilies that don’t soak.

A land with no rain, thoughts of strain

Pulling like a chain too cover the abyss

of inner pain like Africa with the guilt of Cain.

Strapped to her own bed, calling

for love but given lust instead

now her children lack daily bread.

Her pools were once pure,

to all ailments they held a cure.

I can remember how it was to smell her scent

that now stinks like manure,

and all this she does endure.

Let it be understood that in her cape she

kept food, but they stole it,

covered her lips with tape, whipped, tortured

her that she could not escape then

they made her a victim of rape.

Many men who committed adultery to

this sister, as they laid on her, again and again until all she felt was pain.

Many souls she does now bare

so much that she can’t take care of those

already there.

Subjected to greed that she cannot even

breastfeed her own seed when they are in need.

Unsure steps we do take like the blind as solace we seek to find within our own piece of mind.

Why do we live as poor?

Is it really a curse for sure?

Questions do arise

 Whether we will ever see paradise

without hunger, violence, corruption

where everything is nice and the whirlwind

shall blow off the disguise that covers our earthly eyes.

As we sit and wait for food aid

from companies that are paid to travel,

for miles across tarmac and gravel

so that alms they could deliver.