I think of my Africa
Black woman of mettle
Sitting like a forlorn work-woman
On the slimy green.
Mama let me help you up
Take my hand and heave
Just one move of muscle
Will raise you
From your stooging.
She sits still
Reluctant and bemused
Unrepentant of her inferior folly.
I am agitated
Mama cannot go on such forever
One more effort
Must remind her that
I am still her son and
Her shame is mine as well.
samuel nze
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mama-africa-2/
