Mothers of African kids have learnt to cook empty pot as lullaby
to pet their hungry wards to bed,
they’ve done it, not once, not twice
it has become an addiction.

Fathers of African kids have rolled their father’s name
into their pant pockets
hunger doesn’t exist with pride on the same skin.
Their skins are burnt in everyday sun, they have
children, they have wives waiting for their breadwinner

like thirsty dogs await the rain in a desert

It’s so sad for Africa, a lion has allowed itself
to be tamed into a bottle of wine,

our politicians have served too much of our lion-ness to international allies to cover up
their corruptions,

local farmers are the ones feeling the heat,
ordinary men are the ones catching hope in the land like they
are catching air particles

civil servants are the ones shock absorbing all the damages
our leaders have caused the continent.

© Àdèlé