A Son of The Soil
I am a son of the dark continent
By conception and ancestral offshoot
This black earth,
Where my dark ancestors deposited
The birth right of my life
In the dark bowels of our black sacred earth,
As the Canon and cradle of civilization;
The Land where my dark nostrils
First embraced the dark air in my dark lungs;
Which my dark ancestors bequeathed me;
The sacred ancestral black air which saturate
My dark back bone and black spinal cord,
Ensuring the purity of oxygenated black blood,
Meandering inside the black bowels
Of my black body and dark soul;
Galvanizing sacred ancient wisdom
The bloodshot ebony retinas
Of my dark sacred ancestors foretold
Time yellowed corn from afar
Blazing tobacco pipes competed fiercely in the twilight
For supremacy of sacred African nights,
With African Moon and unyielding black stars
Of Africa
The sweet aroma of embellished palm wine
Buried in the bowels of countless kegs of sacred African calabashes;
Roasted yam dipped in sacred palm oil and African pepper
Teased their black taste buds, stretching it to the boiling point of saturation;
Bonga fish and soaked garri was their appetizer,
As my dark ancestors soaked in the dark skin of black pride,
Battled to determine whose black skin was darker
Than the pitched black nights of Africa;
And whose black blood aligned more with black Africa's clay earth!
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