The cries of an African

I exist in a world where the winner is announced
before the game commences.
In a world where I don’t thrive despite my strives;
A world where irrespective of my effort,
I remain an outcast.
A world where discrimination rules the day,
and racism unionizes with mediocrity.

I am oppressed because of my origin,
suppressed because of my color.
I am from the black continent;
A land subjected to ancient and modern oppression,
a land relegated as a merchandise,
usable, expendable and disposable.

We dance to the master’s tune,
eat from the master’s waste.
White lies blindfold our eyes,
Illusions sprout in our heart.

In the midst of the turmoil we live.
Amidst the raging tornado we survive.
We patch up our wounds,
hold tightly to our crutches,
And we still stand.

Our feet are tied, yet we move.
Our tongues are clipped, yet we scream.
We are Africans.
We are the black continent;
We struggle yet we don’t fumble,
We might mumble but we don’t crumble.
We might be oppressed but we are not depressed.
Turning barricades into stepping stones.
We survive because we are the imperishable particle
of the land of Africa.

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