Made in Africa

For believing as we do

That glory will come in the morning

We, the sons and daughters of God

Our tomorrow is secured

Our destiny guaranteed

Though my faith be without works

And righteousness without humility

I too Sir, I have bought my salvation

Paid for over time

In instalments of tenths

Through brokers – preachers

Merchants of deliverance

Yet we still believe in the old promise

Of truth and justice, of peace and plenty

Of Heaven, angels and souls in melody

What else would you have us do?

Summoned to this bustling bazaar

Where everything is for sale

Allow me Sir to tell you a tale

A story made in Africa

Where children go to war

Where the men die young

Where the rich take their wives

And their daughters too

But our faith is unshaken

That glory will come tomorrow

That our dreams will come through

The fallen will rise, be honoured

Our sins will be forgiven

Our souls sanctified

What else would you have us do?

Us, wanderers, saints and bandits

Sons and daughters of God.

Verses for B

I see in the faces of strangers I meet

Faint echoes of your lovely smile

That smile, the one I miss so dearly now

The same one that hides a thousand truths,

That lights up your eyes,

That calls my name and brings me home

My soul will find its way to you

I know this like I know the skies are blue

Like I know not to touch a fire

Like autumn before winter, spring before summer

I’ll find my way in time to you

To the far away shores of your warm embrace

I hear your voice in crowded rooms

And in the ethereal silence

Of my quiet time; it is then my darling

That I write to you the little verses

I’ll read to you to make you smile

When in time I find my way back,

Back home to you

To hold your hands in mine

As we walk slowly through the streets

To the sound of passing cars and barking dogs

Will be for me a dream fulfilled

And if the earth should swallow me then

I’ll go on my merry way

A man at peace with the world he leaves

Except, I still want to kiss you

To carry you off your feet

Like I’ve seen Bogart do in the movies

And place upon your charming lips

A kiss that’ll say to you in a moment

All the things I failed to write

And all the things I’ve dared to dream

I’ve heard it said that only children dream

But I dreamt a dream I found an angel

A vivid dream I still remember

My dreams came through with you

So now I know that I’ll be fine

Through this sojourn and more to come

If at night you sing for me

And call my name before you sleep

Something Happened

When you come home, my son

you will see with your own eyes

that something happened to Africa

You will see it in the red, naked fury

of the flames that pour forth

from the belly of the sanctuary

The dark, portentous plumes

of smoke slowly rising to touch the sky.

The bluest sky you ever saw

The gathering of flinty eyed men

spitting damnation, curses, vulgarisms.

Their machetes dripping little pools of blood

Armed, frightened policemen

Running! Running from the fire

and from the men with the machetes

The bloated corpse on Market Street

feeding the vultures and scavengers, hungry

gloomy children watch with open mouths

My neighbour’s daughter

crying the saddest tears she ever will

as soldiers have their way and shoot the sky

Green weeds, their angry tentacles

strangling the aged and falling walls

of the old primary school by the church

The empty church, looted and burned long ago

Now opened to the elements, squatters, miscreants

and the vermin that live in dank places

Lonely mother, wailing through the night

Mourning the children she lost, and

the life she’d hoped to have

Rows of white clad corpses

packed tightly like sardines

waiting for burial in the potter’s grave

My son, when you return

you will see like I see and know like I do,

Something happened to Africa

Something happened here

Who Needs Another Love Song?

I could sing you the delta blues,

like I did once before

when I lay with you

on the warm green grass,

under the giant elms,

in the angry glare of the northern sun,

whispering quietly in your ears,

all the things I wished to do

alone with you, indoors

under the sheets

when the sun goes to sleep

and the cicadas start to sing

I could sing you the Chicago blues

With a voice like old leather

soaked in bourbon

Another heartbreak song

to say I want my lips

upon your breasts, my tongue

to taste your lips, to feel

with my palm, the small of your back

to bask in the sweet flavour of you

to delight in the private rhythm of

our love making

I could sing you the country blues

But who needs another love song

when you are with me?

When I can hold your body to mine,

feeding the amorous passions

that burn your deepest depths,

and turn your fair appearance

a violent crimson shade

All the Good Men are Dead

All the good men are dead

Removed from our reckoning by the lies they told

And by the punishment of their own conniving spirits

The same that drove them to avarice and to greed

That caused them to take, to steal from their own selves.

Condemned by cowardice and by dread;

The terror that cased them in previous times

To maintain their murderous silence

On those dreadful days when evil

And the sins of our long dead fathers

Came alive in our cities and towns and villages,

In burnt churches and looted mosques,

Murdered youth and embezzled dreams

In a million countrymen left refugees

In the land they helped build and will now die for,

Their widowed mothers left behind

To tend in harsh, desolate, lonely silence

The graves of the ones they loved

Right there in the places where before

They grew yams and tomatoes and those little onions

The kind that make grown men cry

All the good men are dead

Is that what you would have us believe?

In this hallowed land of ours

Where the grass grows a luscious green always,

Except for the places where martyred blood

Hath turned the earth a dirty, sad red

And the blue skies stay blue, even when the dark plumes

Of smoke from the burning streets drift into sight

To cover the vistas and shade the heavens from view

If what you say is true, that all the good men are dead

What then will happen to our living children

And to the ones still to come?

If all the good men are dead, and there is none left

To deliver us from this sordid existence,

What then are we living for?

If all the good men are dead,

What the hell my friend are you still doing here?

Lost Children

When I close my eyes to sleep at night

She is the one whose voice I hear

Wailing through the witching hour

Her cries; long painful odes to heaven

That pierce my heart, and leave my soul bereft

She’s the mother whose son, the soldier

will never come home again

Lost to these depraved marauders

who wish to paint our world

their ghastly shade of violent red

She’s my sister, who was never born

Her mother took a bullet to the chest

and a machete to the belly

The cost of living in a land

where men have turned to beasts

She’s the strange woman in the marketplace

dead eyed and filthy

forever in motion, mumbling to herself; and

weeping quietly for the man she loved

and lost when Kano burned

She’s the mother whose daughter’s bones

are buried in a shallow grave,

left to rot in the dry, arid fields

of Kanemi’s ancient homeland

This, the price she paid to serve her fatherland

She’s the mother who sits all day in the sun

Crying for everything and for nothing

Waiting for news, for the day of mourning

She knows will come

As her lonely tears drop to the ground

To place a curse upon this land

When I close my eyes to sleep at night

hers is the voice I hear

howling for the lost children of strife

and for the nation that killed them all

Last Days of Spring

Tonight I am free

From expectations and temptations

Unbound by time and distance

To write the saddest words a lover could

I do not love you, except for the memories

Unclasped from reality, abandoning all reason

Stark, raving mad – unhinged by desire

Lost, wandering, seeking, not finding

Starved, fading from a hunger only you can fill

Tonight I am free

Liberty paid for with a thousand lies

Like when I said ‘I do not love you’

You with the cherry lips, and wide hips

You, with the smile that lit up the sky

Tonight I am free

To find you, to write you a love song

To adore you once more, like I used to

To leave you – our spring has passed

Only memory and longing will remain

For the Ones We Loved Before

On those long winter nights

When it seems as if the heart of God

Hath itself frozen over

My empty bed sits in quiet mockery

As I engage in a losing battle

With the lone bottle

And the demons that haunt the waking hours

All the world is tinted a fair shade of rose

The past is a distant land, a place

For which I have only fond memories

The future, a lovely paradise,

A charming destination I may never see

‘Tis on nights like these

That I wonder the most

About the ones we’ve loved and left behind

The detritus of a life fully lived

Abandoned with the other ancient things,

Forgotten, never to be seen or heard again,

Quietly removed from memory, and

From our drifting hearts. Pictures and love notes

Torn and thrown in the fire – the special pyre

We build to devour those parts of our lives,

The unpleasant fragments of our existence

We wish no longer to remember

Trying with too much haste to unlive a life

Already lived, forgetting in the moment

That everything will pass in time

And the memories we make will count for nought,

Except on those long winter nights

When there’s nothing left to hold, but the memory

Of the ones we’ve loved and left behind

A Father's Message to His Son

Kicking sand as I walk the village paths

Melancholy, my only partner

This fork in the road has caused me misery

The path I should choose, I do not know

So, I carry these words with me for guidance,

in my pocket and close to my heart

because they are the last words Papa spoke,

though what to make of them, I do not yet know

Look into your heart, my boy

Find whatever makes you happy; do it

You will find no easy answers, but you will find a life,

a full life of joy, of adventure and promise

Do not be anxious of the things you don’t know

and of the things you can’t comprehend.

The knowledge you seek will come to you,

time and chance will handle the rest

When you cross the River Niger

to find your treasure in far places

you’ll set your eyes upon many a pretty lass.

Remember, don’t take them all for lovers

Once you reach the city, be careful,

run from the women that walk the streets

all dressed up with nowhere left to go;

they’ll take your wallet and your pride with it

But if fate and chance bring across your path

a pretty woman who soothes your soul

take her for a partner, a lover and a wife

your anchor, your light to guide you home

When you are called to a good fight,

to stand in defence of one upright man,

get in it and fight to win.

A free conscience will be your reward

Don’t forget the things you do each day,

the thoughts and actions that take the moments.

God will forgive your sins,

but only the ones you remember at confession.

And when you have reason to remember this place

And the ones you will leave behind

Think of us fondly; we in turn will keep your place

A harbour for you, if all else fails.