By David DiopAfrica, my AfricaAfrica of proud warriors in ancestral savannahsAfrica of whom my grandmother singsOn the banks of the distant riverI have never known youBut your blood flows in my veinsYour beautiful black blood that irrigates the fieldsThe blood of your sweatThe sweat of your workThe work of your slaveryAfrica, tell me AfricaIs this you, this back that is bentThis back that breaksUnder the weight of humiliationThis back trembling with red scarsAnd saying yes to the whip under the midday sunBut a grave voice answers meImpetuous child that tree, young and strongThat tree over thereSplendidly alone amidst white and faded flowersThat is your Africa sp...
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