As Africa lies dying

In the search for that elusive State of grace
By which to bless and absolve ideology
- As Africa lies dying,
We munch quietly on
briar-wrapped
Wafer-bytes of Belief,
Handed down by
Notorious gossip and secrecy.

Colonial derivatives spat seeds of destiny
into anarchic tribal disorientation
And while old men stood still to watch,
Nature’s aristocracy bleeds
until silence wears the bruises
of distant hills and the sky takes
the grey-coloured skin
of cold fear:
For Children’s laughter
Now, snared beneath the sand
Dies down, against a setting sun.

Beyond the language of the living
Cast in iron, I will not become her widow
But will remain a remnant
Scoured by demystification
And the non fiction of
How does one set about dying?