They came to celebrate, under the night sky, the equatorial moon
The black star cautiously approved, the parade to praise Africa’s new mood
Our new son, free of the White Queen’s womb
Who spoke with a fire befitting the dawn of something new;
a nation of blacks.
Here he was, Africa’s first hope, an Icarus granted wings of wax and feather
Never warned by his father who was mysteriously absent,
that to fly a middle course, lest his wings be clipped by shifting weather
yet who heeds such warnings, proud of this godsend
free; a nation of blacks.
And like tragic Prometheus, who promised man the gift of fire
not in waves of flame but rather in the form of power,
the promise being that of light, energy in Africa which remained most dire
from Gold to Ghana, Africa’s first flower
alive, a nation of blacks.
Freedom not even yet born, under then night sky, the equatorial moon
gazed silently and cautiously approved, the Charade of Africa’s new mood
Our new sun, and builder of the White Queen’s tomb
who spoke with a fire, foreboding the dawn of something of new;
a nation of blacks.
anthonyjacqueminot 