I weep Mother Africa,
I weep for the shiny ivory crafted out of your loins,
I weep for the bean pod that sprout out
from your hairy armpit.
I weep for your children
who dart around in fear.
For they are confronted by a black he-goat,
who feels he is stronger than a leopard
and more fierce than the evening wolves.
his nose is shaped like that of a pig snout
and is rag-tag ass the colour of red mud.
the whiff of death floats around him,
like flies darting round rotten flesh.
he is spurned from the east by the horn
and from the west by the heart.
he, like a cruel ant
sticks himself to your ivory tusk,
despite all entreaties to let go.
he despises QUE the lion
and rightful heir.
he despises Mother Europe and Mother America.
I have wept enough and shall weep no more.
For though he has surrounded himself,
with masquerades dressed in camouflage
And have decided to dine with evil spirits.
Let him remember,
He his dancing a dance of his fore fathers
A dance they started but could not finish.