Black Poetry : I AM AFRICA (revise)


Well-Known Member
Jun 11, 2003
Baltimore, MD
Praising The Lord
(From my ancestors eyes)

I am the soil.
You are the seed.
Together we will create a great nation.
We know who we are, and where we come from.
A land called Africa.

Four hundred years ago kidnap from our home.
The soil and seed was scatter.
Million were toss in the great Ocean
Sickens, starved and batter.

Who they were did not end there.
The seed whisper to the soil.
The one lost will not be forgotten.
Through us they will be remember.

Our roots are deep.
Our blood is strong.
Remember Africa.

They raped the soil with foreign seed,
And then called us animals.
The soil was forced to produce more sprouts
Without any fatherly attachment.

The sprout when ripe was ripped from the arms
Of the Mother soil.
The Father seed head bow low.
No longer a warrior.

One last glance upon the child
They knew they would never see again.
Their lips moved. No words could be heard.
They whisper lightly into the air.
You are our child;
Your blood is strong.
You will survive Africa.

Four hundred years you tried to blind us
From who and what we were.
The native tongue was beaten out of us.
Your foreign names force upon us.
You tried to break our spirit.
You could not touch our soul.

Our roots run deep.
Our blood is strong.
I am Africa.

In the end you were the fool.
For taken us from our land.
The soil and seed scatter across the world
Will join, and unite again.

You tried to silent our leaders,
But they have already touched our soul.
They told the story about mankind,
And our ancestor home.

They said we have brothers and sisters
All across the globe.
They told us about a great land
To get there you cross a great ocean.
Where the soil is rich
And the seed is strong.
Our original home Africa.

We are branches from a mighty tree.
The soil and seeds was scatter.
The Flower of the trees bloom in many shades,
They are our brother and sister.

Many have died to make the way
For us to come together.
To hold, our children in our arms.
Bringing out the best in them.
Lets call our ancestor from the
East, North, South and West
To come into our home.

The father seed said to the mother soil.
No longer we have to whisper.
Smiling at the children embracing each one.
Through them our ancestors will be remember.
Forming a circle holding hands,
Arms lifted toward the heaven.
They let out a shout so the ancient could hear.
The words echo in all direction.

We know who we are,
And where we come from.
The land, called Africa.
Our root is deep.
Our blood is strong.
I am Africa.

Ashe! Ashe! Ashe!

you got me

Sista, you brought tears to my eyes, good tears the kind that carry hope and strength.
Your poem reminds me of a card I read once that says "I am African, not because I was born in Africa,
but because Africa was born in me! The Spirit lives on!

This was beautiful keep them coming!
Thank you so much sisters for your love on this peace
I brought it back because this is the month to celebrate
our culture on( white paper and black ink). but we all know deep
inside that We celebrate the joy and life of us with every breathe we take

Once again thank you for the love



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