When You Speak Of Africa

You can live a thousand years in her arms  and never really  know her
You can lose yourself in her gaze and still never really see her
They say women are  difficult and if that happens to be true
Then she is the most difficult woman I’ve ever met
She speaks more languages than I can comprehend
She’s travelled more worlds than I will ever know
Her riches lay as vast as the oceans on her shores
Her secrets are even more than that
But no one knows for sure
The children she has borne have been her glory and her grief
The object of her joys and the subject of her miseries
As for me,
I’ve never loved another woman as much as I’ve loved her
But no other woman has ever caused me so much pain
I’ve run to the ends of the world to get away from her
But the further I go the closer she is
Though drowned in her presence
I breathe her in deeply
I’ve been both enemy and friend to her
I’ve fought beside her and against her
For her I would give my heart, my soul, my everything
You may choose to remember her as the mother of suffering children
The womb of poverty and despair
You may even choose to believe to that she doesn’t deserve your sympathy or help
But in as much as you do all that
You should also keep in mind
That she gave you dreams to fill your minds as you slept
She gave you books whose pages you’ve filled stories of worlds that are beyond any singular imagination
She gave you colors with which to paint the world around you
She gave you life
The very one which you sometimes use to discount her existence
In as much as you speak of her,
Speak with caution, reverence, and trepidation if necessary
Because whether or not you choose to help her stand
She will do so on her own
And if she has to
She will limp toward the new dawn at the end of the horizon
So the next time you choose to say her name
Whether it be for good or evil
Whether it be for love or hate
Remember simple truth that she is your mother too

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