So this is whom I shall soon call my husband. He who shall posses my body. This vast body, which God created. I, Adaure, daughter of gold. Over my dead body! I’d rather die than be defiled by him.
With vexing pride in his wake, And subtle laughter hued in his fiery Eyes, he gyrates in a tippling dance With the dexterity of a champion Wrestler; wings on his heels, he Bounces with the stead Of a masquerade:
One man’s greed, another’s selfishness One ruler’s goal, an opposition’s fear One governor’s pride, an emperor’s arrogance One militia’s cause, a dictator’s vexation One government’s stubbornness, a rebel’s frustration
BOY quickly finished his breakfast of watery beans and a piece of stale bread that was a left over from Father’s meal of the night before. It wasn’t nearly enough to fill Boy’s empty stomach and, in spite of the trace of mould that was already growing on the bread, he relished the meal.
Hear the voice of Africa From the timeless past to yesterday Hear the voice of Africa Rich resonating and sonorous The gods, enchanted and thrilled, are lured out Hear the voice of Africa, Which ensnares the divine No more only among us, Or in foreign institutions of learning But wherever the foot of man treads…