Africa my Africa by David Diop

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Africa my Africa,

Africa of proud warriors in the ancestral savannahs, 

Africa my grandmother sings of

Beside her distant river

I have never seen you

But my gaze is full of your blood

Your black blood spilt over the fields

The blood of your sweat

The sweat of your toil

The toil of slavery

The slavery of your children.

Africa, tell me Africa,

Are you the back that bends

Lies down under the weight of humbleness?

The trembling back striped red 

That says yes to the sjambok on the roads of noon?

Solemnly a voice answers me

'Impetuous child, that young and sturdy tree

That tree that grows

There splendidly alone among white and faded flowers 

Is Africa, your Africa. It puts forth new shoots 

With patience and stubbornness puts forth new shoots

Slowly its fruits grow to have 

The bitter taste of liberty.'