Poem: THE GRIEVED LANDS OF AFRICA by Agostinho Neto

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The grieved lands of Africa
In the tearful woes of ancient and modern slave
In the degrading sweat of impure dance
Of other seas
Grieved

The grieved lands of Africa
In the infamous sensation 
Of the stunning perfume of the Flower
Crushed in the forest
By the wickedness of iron and fire
The grieved lands

The grieved lands of Africa
In the dream soon undone in jinglings of jailer's keys
And in the stifled laughter and victorious voice of laments
And in the unconscious brilliance of hidden sensations
Of the grieved lands of Africa

Alive
In themselves and with us alive
They bubble up in dreams
Decked with dances by baobabs over balances
By the antelope
In the perpetual alliance of everything that lives

They shout out the sound of life
Shout it
Even the corpses thrown up by the Atlantic
In putrid offering of incoherence
And death and in the clearness
Of rivers

They live
The grieved lands of Africa
In the harmonious sound of consciences
Contained in the honest blood of men
In the strong desire of men
In the sincerity
In the pure and simple rightness of the stars’
Existence

They live
The grieved lands of Africa
Because we are living
And are imperishable particles
Of the grieved lands of Africa.

— Agostinho Neto

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