Original Poetry

My Africa Is Warmth – It Burns

It’s no belts in the backseat,
The sun shining and bare feet.
Some people say that Africa has a rhythm
But the reality of Africa is a flavour;
Tastes something like wet dirt, sunscreen,
And the sweat from manual labour.
Africa can rob a swarm of bees of their honey
And with sticky hands unscathed
Those same fingers snatch a beggar’s money.
It’s that empty-belly-ache-dying-for-a-little-taste,
Ballooning children, going to waste –
But sunsets;
Egg yolk yellow leaking into
orange spilling over
to kiss the watery cheek of Lake Kariba:
…………..Some say corruption is a two-way street –
Have you ever tried to love a place synonymous with deceit?

Copyright © February 2017, Lyndsey England

3 thoughts on “My Africa Is Warmth – It Burns”

  1. This is how I feel about Africa as well, particularly the last 2 sentences.

    The overall feeling I get from this is that Africa is the cradle of humanity, and the home of contrast, using your examples it dissipates people by enlarging them, and can seduce and swindle you simultaneously.

    I appreciate that it isn’t a romanticised ode, rather it is a raw,artistic portrait of Africa’s reality. This resonates with me deeply.

    Liked by 1 person

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