This country nurtured hope decayed,
The politician cruises on a 4WD guzzler,
The thief.
Feeling the base of his belly.
There is a slum in my heart
But I cannot relocate it to my foot
Nor hand nor back
Its rusted tin makeshifts make my blood flow slow.
War has filled my heart with bullets,
Steel and blood do not mix.
A bullet lodged in my head
Is another brain of the dead.
Africa my home
Africa my tomb.
