Poetry: Land Of Plenty

I am
Africa
The mother
Land of plenty
Handmade from the sediments of dirt, mud and sand
Where ivory was hunted
Diamonds were cut
Oil gushed
And gold was panned
The perfect balance between the north and the south
The east and the west
The Pacific and the Atlantic
The beginning of the end
But my paradise faded
Once my privacy was invaded
Degraded by the unwelcome
My foundation shaken
Trampled upon
Battered and beaten
Abused and misused
Viciously raped
No longer pure
My innocence
Now forever tainted
I cried to my oppressors
I pleaded and begged
Soon after bled
Heavily
While the venom of hatred
Seeped beneath my soil
Birthing the seeds of seven illegitimate sons
Wrath
Lust
Pride
Greed
Gluttony
Sloth
And
Envy
Feeding off my weaknesses and insecurities
Draining me of my rivers
Deadening my land
Withering away my greenery
Whitewashing away my cultural identity
To the point where I became
Unrecognizable to anyone
Not even myself
Once independent and strong-willed
Now just bruised and fragile
Wounded in my Achilles heel
I was now an example
The martyr for the sake of an entire race
No longer would I be oppressed
By the evil that took place
It was time to rebuild from a torn terrain
Regroup my roots
With the grace of God
And the fall of rain
Flowers flourished
Birds hummed
And life proceeded once again
Streams of red, black and green
Begin to flow through my veins
Erasing the harsh realities of racism
The graphics images of slavery
And the disheartening strains of apartheid
That tend to haunt me in my sleep
Forcing me to change for the better
Instead of remaining bitter
Giving me a newfound
Sense of freedom
Bittersweet visions of racial integration
Enlightened with revelations of divine inspiration
I pulled through the depression
Survived the recession
And proved that I was still
Africa
The mother
Land of plenty

© Patrice Washington