Tuesday, September 1, 2009



Accra, Ghana
Title: Africa

Holds her heart

Holds her soul

Holds her culture

Is her mold

The dirt road tells her story
The rocks share her pain
The bucket placed on her head
Proves she has no shame

The sun beats heavily on her back
The kids crying to be fed
The long hours, the hard work
Leaves little time or her head

Her hair rough
Personality tough
Her eyes show no fear
Her voice trembles

Her legs bare
Her eyes begin to tear

She wonders

She cries to God

What can I do?

I have no money
My husband dead
With these scarps of food
How do my children get fed?
She continues her struggle

Ignored by the crowd
Constantly wondering to herself
Why is Africa so proud?

We have greedy leaders
And dirty running water
We have no money for food
And no animals to slaughter

The dead lay out to rot
the sick, lay cut and bruised

People walking all over the place
Emotion, physically, and psychologically abused
Where did things go wrong?
She tries her best
She cannot do it alone
She asks for help
But has no phone
She calls for help,
No one to hear her talk
Scars on her small frame, disable her to walk

All this money
Too much greed
You would think the leaders would look at these children, and be encouraged to grow a beautiful seed

A seed full of hope
A seed full of love
A seed full of laughter
A seed full of hugs

Cannot understand
The way money is used
The way money is abused
The way money is misused

Cannot understand why people act blindly
To people standing in line
For things to save lives

Like medicine, and vaccines
These do make a difference
Like flu shots, and clean medical supplies
When a baby has just been born
This does not have to be the Africa,
We all claim to know and admire

But yet for some odd reason
We keep voting for liars

When will we stand up?
And reclaim the African dream?
When will we finally put our feet down?
And start to scream

Words of hope
Words of wisdom
Words of encouragement
But not words of cynicism

This is our Africa
This is our home
This is our culture and
This is our mould

Submitted by Martha Mutale, Gyfted Artyst


  1. This is beautiful! Very moving. I am teaching literature now. Do I have your permission to use this poem in my 9th grade class? I want to look at ways in which a poet creates mood and tone. Please, please, pretty please?