Nnnhhh, from behind
These thick walls
I just gazed at Africa,
The richest continent
With the poorest population.
Is it because of greed
Or just plain misfortune?
Wait a minute—
Google told me
In my silent corner
75% of the African population
Is under twenty-five
And as for the elderly,
I won’t dare mention them.
I’m curious about
the clandestine work
Our elderly and
So-called revolutionaries
Have done.
The governments
Have no legs left to stand on,
So pot, kettle, black.
We are called enemies
For desiring
Peaceful protest
And a change of power.
Bloodlines were erased
In the name of revolutions,
Human rights were violated
To protect
The so-called gods in power,
Who have abandoned
Any pretence of reform.
So why focus on the Patriots?
We are the youth
Of the 21st generation.
I am merely asking
For my well-being
And that of my nations.
You know, I just realized why
Our grannies
Trusted revolutionaries
So readily in their youth.
That we, their grandkids,
Are putting our lives on the line
Baffles me.
I am a youth who wants
Change for my generation.
I overheard
Their children mocking us:
“We are born to the gods
Of these nations,”
They said, posing with
Stacks of cash
And posh cars.
They attend the best schools
But get the worst grades,
Nnhhh, so funny.
Power is now inherited
And passed on
Through their bloodlines,
and African nations
are now kingdoms
Run like family businesses.
I feel betrayed
That not one of them
Still stands for a vision
And a mission,
Not to mention the ideologies
They once spearheaded.
Instead they have shattered
Our ideals
For their own benefit,
And made us believe
It’s only them that can get it done.
Cry, African youths.
Revolutionaries, you baffle me.
We wanna
For sinking the ship.
The struggle is on, youth:
Aluta continua.
Dear clowns and stars,
Ain’t you full yet?
6 October, 2023
