My land my land
My land burns of a thousand fires of unwanted desires
of un-dead wants and needs
My land crouches but observes like a majestic lion ready to throw itself at its prey's throat
to press on it lungs and make him royal too
for we are royal when we consume an eagle
we are royal when we take in something royal
My land hides behind a baobab tree, an old big strong tree that appears feeble to its companion but will stand up last, strong and king of all, and from its trees, and branches stretches to remind the other trees where they come from
my land has the mystic and mystery, that spice others want and create, it has it already, it is engrained in us, in it.
My land wants nothing but new eyes, water squirted in the other's eyes, independence and no subordination, my land wants it and that's all it wants
When the sun goes down and huts appear like shallow paintings against the gold tinted wallpaper, that is when I go to sleep, but become alive.
My land my land, my land is Africa...
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