Page 24 - A People Called Afrika

Featured Poem

The Sound of Afrika

By Samuel Phillips

Unbent, unbroken, blessed over the ages
Sages of beauty, the faces of royalty
Snatched from birth homes, lost before dawn
Packed in death droves across unknown and uncharted lands
A royal line of brazen chains, necks of servitude
A caravan of living shining black skins and brown riches
Bent, broken with long walks of fading hopes
The first note of the sound from Afrika

Thirsty, hungry, angry, but words do not do
Justice, humanity, compassion but such do not do in the heart
of the sons of pride
Their hands on the black riches and shining pieces of pains
Their eyes on the blue horizon called home
Right across the landless waters of separation
The undulating topography of the ancient slave routes
The second note of the sound from Afrika

The gagging, choking sound of silent death
The piercing eyes that look in horror
Chained hands that can’t offer the help of brotherhood
For in giving help, the cracking sound of hard whip on black
back resound
A sharp cry, a coil in the corner of darkness and a loss of
identity
A wish for the cold hands of death that brings peace
For death is peace and peace is death
The third note of the sound from Afrika

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