Africa Screams

February 5, 2017 | Posted by Peter Jakobsen | PETER'S WRITING, Ulalume | 0 Comments |

This cradle of man, this voracious climbing vine,

Done-up like a salad bowl, posing as a mine,

We don’t sing but complain melodiously;

Never given anything we now expect for free.

Sun-treader comb your morning hair, sweep private roads in anger;

What of other highways? Go tell King Mwanga

The Royal House is empty, the servants all abroad,

Scattered to earth’s corners, a tuneless monochord,

Their hearts a lute for strumming, diseased the ebb and flow,

Sad cypress; unfulfilled watercress – what’s to know?


Negative reinforcement



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