“What, what happened to Africa?”
I asked Papa
“What happened to her?”
Papa sat and sighed, then answered:
Africa was once a tree, tall and green
Planted on a high hill,
She grew widespread branches
Offering a shade for anyone who wished to sit underneath
Africa was once a tightly bound broom
Held strongly together, she could not be broken into two
Although the least in the room,
She was useful through and through
Her branches decided to break off one day
The broomsticks decided they wanted to separate
Wanting no part in the whole
Thinking they could stand alone
They could not see that the roots held the secret
That the tree was nothing without its branches
They could not see that without its broomsticks
The broom was only a stick
“But we can be whole again,” Papa said.
I agreed and nodded my head.
“If the branches returned to their roots,
And the broomsticks once more, made a broom.”
This poem was published in the 5th Issue of PoeticAfrica magazine.
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Read – Bleu Ciel – Eloga Arsené (Cameroon)
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This was beautifully written