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Africa Speaks
In the pages of the past,
In the faithless days of long ago,
When vision was short, and knowledge scant,
Men called me “Dark Africa.”
Dark Africa?
I, who raised the regal pyramids,
And held the fortunes
Of conqu’ring Caesars
In my tempting grasp?
Dark Africa?
Who nursed the doubtful child
Of civilization
On the wand’ring banks
Of life-giving Nile,
And gave to the teeming nations
Of the West
Grecian gift!
The dazzling glare of iron and steel
Sometimes obscures non-metal worth;
So when I disdained my pristine
Bows and arrows,
And cared not much for iron and steel,
They called me “Dark” in all the world.
But dearer far than cold steel and iron
Is the tranquil art
or thinking together
And living together.
Dark Africa?
Underneath the clotted roots
Of my kingly whistling palms,
I keep a treasure that none can measure.
Dark Africa!
My dawn is here:
Behold, I see
A rich-warm glow in the East,
And my day will soon be here.
— Michel Dei Anang
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