Is the Black Man, still, what the White Man, thinks
No more, In the new, Freedom’s Fiefdoms
Wherein, ethos rots, institutions stink
Democracy’s disease; African symptoms!
No more can, Black Man, convict west
For the travesty, of his, sovereign reign
Slavery had, united, his conquest
Freedom has, severed, his ethnic strain!
A muddle, of a thousand, hostile tribes
Each bleeds, to crown, its head of state
Hustings are, here, wars of diatribes
Africa, is a dystopia, made of, hate!
No more, is world, aghast, at the death
Of African dream, of blood, and sand
Each clan, strives here, for its, own shibboleth
Republics, Of The, Monkey-Land!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra