The African Man
Fierce in his inherit pride
to belong to his own tribe.
Since the Cradle of Mankind,
others were left far behind
when he took Life as his bride.
The African plains are vast.
Culture and customs which last.
Knowledge of the vast *veld,
mixed with believes long held.
The *induna's spell was cast.
Moon bright smiles on faces fan.
From Cape to Cairo they span,
in ochre hues of earthly tones,
hiding strong ancestral bones:
The gentle African man.
poem by Suzette Crous
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Related quotes
African Moon
African moon
Roll with the mighty waves
Well be there soon
Feel the winds as we sail on home to african moon
African moon
My heart beats like the drum
Now it is noon
Loved ones we left behind Ill see again
African moon
African moon
I will see you once more
Yes again Ill adore the real sound of the drum
Oh yes Im sailing feel your hot sun
African moon
African moon
Looking out to the sea
A reunion therell be in the evening sun
Oh theres a new life thats awaiting me
African moon
African moon
This land is my rightful home
Well never roam
Youll weep fou your sons no more and daughters
African moon
Hold up your head
One day youll be understood
Stand and be proud
Your sorrows are gone for good
Hold up your head
And youll be satisfied!
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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African's Rhythm
AFRICAN'S RHYTHM.
My golden eye continues to wink
Despite the season,
Shadows of my delivery
Was like flavor to the living,
Listen to this string of
My ancestral kings.
Identify trees with
Her meaning,
Instead of killing leafs
And colour green pasted
On my skin,
Here is beauty of wide
Life mixed with discipline,
Likewise evil under blind
Sky during evenings.
I am Africa
The ripe bride,
My tribe leads to greater
Height
Constant lights, and
Forgetting bribes.
Quarrel is inherited by
Every child,
Lets enjoy this ride round
Africa's pride.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA.
poem by Habib Akewusola
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African Spirit
Unfortunately, I will not stop,
Across Africa, I will travel with this African face,
My African pride,
And my African story.
I saw your face in Zimbabwe;
Then I saw it again in South Africa.
You smiled at me in Malawi,
Why were you surprise to see me again in Angola?
I carry the African song,
Listen to soulful rhythems from within.
I have an African heart,
With lots of love and pain, it won't part.
Your African face smiles at me with inspiration,
Across Africa and the world, give me an ear;
I speak an African language.
Someday you will know my love,
Someday you will sing my song,
Someday you will hold my heart;
Someday you will cry the same tears in my eyes.
Someday you will relieve my pain,
One day you will understand me.
Someday you will join my fight an we'll make Africa our pride.
poem by Peter Phiri
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African Spokesman
I am the African Spokesman and,
I have something for you;
Because, the muse of my African Stew tastes different from yours!
And, it is infused with a special ingredient from the African Soil.
I am the muse that you are reading and,
I am the African Child with my words so sweet! !
And like the love of your mind without the wars around you;
Because, i am always for the peace of this world.
I am the African Spokesman and,
I am presenting the muse of my mind from Africa to educate you;
For, mankind had now made more amumunitions for war!
But, we really don't need them when, we talk about peace on this earth.
Listen and look for peace around you always,
Learn and care for others around you always,
For education is not always about degrees! !
Because, the very professors are the very ones who made these weapons of war.
The African Spokesman is what i am,
Along the streets of Africa and around the hiding places of the ghettoes!
For, i have seen many things in my life and, i have more to tell to you;
But, like the colours of the rainbow,
We need to love each other in the name of the colours that nature gave us.
I am the African Spokesman and,
I have something for you;
But, if you listen very carefully, you will feel the muse of my love around you!
Because, this world is now being captured by the weapons of war than peace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The White African
The White African
By
Ross Dix-Peek
Over the great ocean seas
My ancestors did choose to flee,
Europe’s rumblings and poverty,
And to “Darkest Africa” did journey
It was many, many years past,
When Queen Vic’ was still at the mast,
When my forebears resolute did come,
To live beneath the great African sun
Since has Mother Africa suckled our young
To us her lullabies and sweet songs sung,
And all this time ‘neath her fiery mantle
Did my people in Africa live, toil and battle
Africa is not for the mild and the meek,
It's no place at all for the feeble and the weak,
And the days oft be savage and so very long,
Yes, it's only for the brave and the very strong
Many generations did pass, and many years shorn,
Before I too upon African soil was born,
Like my fathers’ before, a White African,
Created and cast beneath her scorching sun
And although I have since her rugged shores left,
My soul to Mother Africa’s bosom will forever be cleft,
And though I may miss the tight embrace of an African sun,
It matters not, for I will forever be a White African!
poem by Ross DixPeek
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Bottom Line
I am 'Me',
Because I am 'Myself',
Never hit left!
Never hit right!
What I am,
Is who I am,
I rerseve my own philosophical identity,
I resile my own interdependant indemnity,
I Am what I am,
I trade nothing of it,
I hide nothing oft,
As I fake none of it,
What I am,
Belongs to me,
If what I am is being pity,
then you pity nothing of it,
Who I am!
Is what I am!
Who are you to judge?
Who are you to oppose?
Who are you to isolate?
Who are you to impersonate?
Who I am,
Is what I am,
Because I enjoy the proudly culture,
As ofcause the good smell of my traditional honey,
Identity! Identity!
Because what I am,
Is who I am,
The veins, I belong!
The heart, I belong!
The soul, I belong,
The mind, I belong,
The Body is nothing at all,
But I belong!
You do not have to respect me,
But neither me is to disrespect,
I do not build from expectations,
I grant my life a vest of decent revelations,
You do not have to love me,
But neither me is to hate agains you,
What you see,
Is what you see,
But what you get
You Never had
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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The Song (My Culture)
I Sing it with pride!
I sing it with love!
I sing it with origin!
I Sing it genuinely!
Allong strong delight,
Which neither divided or subtracted,
reveals my true identity in multiple,
it hypnotises the soul i begot from the soil,
distinguished amongst other songs,
cannot be languished!
cannot be banished!
Culture O! Song,
I Sang It Before!
I Sing It Now!
As I will sing it then!
Allong strong delight,
a part of a human art to my site,
you run away from the lyrics,
however draws you nearer with its pleasant noise,
when the wind blows,
just like fire it glows,
cannot waste its taste with conotation,
cannot erase its denotation,
I live by the song,
guided by it for so long,
Culture O! Song!
Like hip-hop
I Sing to,
Like Drums,
I Dance to it,
Like a book,
the story read never ends,
My Culture!
My Pride!
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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I Love The African Woman
I Love The African Woman
I love the African woman
Her golden eyes
Burnt by smoke yet remained pure
Her black hair
Burdened by loads yet remained long
I love the African woman
Her dark lips
Kissed and chewed by men, Black and White
Yet remained full and thick
Her tender breast
Fondled by hands, smooth and callous
Yet remained firm and tall
At her back great men slept
On her laps heroes were nursed
At the meeting of her thighs all men dream
Her feet, hardened and bruised
Yet she keep moving
With pride
With dignity
I love her African heart
I love her African passion
I love the African woman
poem by Joseph Eli Atisu
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Tula-Tu-Tula-Baba 5.14.2008
Watching Dingaka, Jamie Uys,
African culture, justice, gum-boot-
dancing, tula-tu-tula-baba-lullaby
Killing an adversary for killing his
daughter, an eye-for-an-eye;
crying for Masaba, crying for
Cultural clashes, crying for
African cultures and Western
traditions, African heart breaking
Big cynical lawyer, not understanding,
punished for doing his African duty..
“Do you believe I want to be your
friend? ” “No, you don’t want to
look pretty damn silly in court again…”
a challenge, “Find my friend, Mputi,
take care of him, ” “We’ve got a deal…”
Mputi became the gardener
tula-tu-tula-baba-
“Hang Masaba, otherwise
you have betrayed me” -
Masaba murdered the child
Of a man devoted to his family,
the cruel death of his child -
he grew up in the jungle
With laws as stern and binding
as any of our statutes -
Makwena has a strong
Sense of justice – he believes
in right and wrong - punish a
man who harmed his family
In ignorance of the ways of
the white man – which is
no great loss at all…
Based on the movie “Dingaka” made by Jamie Uys
poem by Margaret Alice
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On Christmas Day
The economy is in the tank
And all the tanks are in Iraq
Whenever the pump price falls further
There's a run on Hummer's mail order
I can't remember if you liked
Leonard Cohen before we were fans
Or if you ever really said
That one day you had met Jacques Brel
In dreaming moments we held hands
But I'm so very certain now
Of one thing I long to do -
Halve this avocado with my hunting knife
And share the gentle flesh with you.
Jesus was born, Harold Pinter died
Humanity climbed up from Olduvai
And on the day the children grew
I paid my debts, burned the credit cards
In surrender to my last desires
And returned to the cradle where love was born
Under the Eastern, African star
To subsist for all life long with you.
poem by Frank Bana
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The Roman Gravemounds
By Rome's dim relics there walks a man,
Eyes bent; and he carries a basket and spade;
I guess what impels him to scrape and scan;
Yea, his dreams of that Empire long decayed.
'Vast was Rome,' he must muse, 'in the worlds regard,
Vast it looms there still, Vast it ever will be;'
And he stoops as to dig and unmine some shard
Left by those who are held in such memory.
But no; in his basket, see, he has brought
A little white furred thing, stiff of limb,
Whose life never won from the world a thought;
It is this, and not Rome, that is moving him.
And to make it a grave he has come to the spot,
And he delves in the ancient dead's long home;
Their fames, their achievements, the man knows not;
The furred thing is all to him - nothing Rome!
'Here say you that Caesar's warriors lie? -
But my little white cat was my only friend!
Could she but live, might the record die
Of Caesar, his legions, his aims, his end!'
Well, Rome's long rule here is oft and again
A theme for the sages of history,
And the small furred life was worth no one's pen;
Yet its mourner's mood has a charm for me.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Vast Times And Vast Spaces
VAST TIMES AND VAST SPACES
Vast times and vast spaces
Preceded our being here
Vast times and vast spaces
Will be should we disappear-
Yet our hearts tell us
A revelation from God we be-
And wherever the Universe takes us
We’ll go on for Infinity.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Forgive him, for he believes that the customs of his tribe are the laws of nature
quote by George Bernard Shaw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The African Tradition
Libation! It is the African tradition;
It is the centre culture of our tradition;
The power of the African child,
The network of the information from the household gods
And the gods of kingdom, the gods of our identity.
We libate with schnapps, awake the spirits
Of our ancestors so speed us in action an' reaction
But done upon the gad at ease we no longer
For our centre culture active no more as things fell apart
But who is he that makes our minds troubled?
And walk we abroad and forgot our tradition,
Our culture, belief, our vehicle and our tradition
Woe to you foreigner for deception is you;
The betweeness between us took you away from us
And our offspring you turned rebels with your foreign ideas.
The networks of our wise ones you intercepted
And your strange God now we serve with you
While our wise ones slave for your topless.
No to you foreigner, for me, myself and I shall awake
And maintain my fathers' beliefs, culture and tradition
Which I have come and seen, for it is my true identity,
For I am a true African child.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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The Oracles
Invaders, invaders! The oracles must be consulted;
From the North to the South and,
From the East to the West are the African Oracles.
The oracles of my ancestors are,
The trademarks of my African identity to a call;
We have to consult the oracles in times of need.
Who said it is not rue?
Who said it is not powerful?
Visit the Oracles of Africa and know the truth.
The African Oracles,
Do ask Mr. Okonkwo about it;
He will tell you why,
The Whiteman's 'iron Horse' was hanged on a tree.
Oh! The oracles of my ancestors;
Out of their mystic myths,
So lay their powers.
Of their creative arts and acts,
Of their spell which makes me think otherwise;
Yet still, the African lacks behind in many things.
If onne could fly in the thin air and able to vanish,
Why can't they form a Universal Soldier in Africa? !
Those are they who are bullet-proof too;
Are these Oracles also working for them?
The oracles,
The Oracles of Africa!
With respective rites for a passer-by who,
Wants to know more about the African;
Oh, the oracles of my forefathers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Pride To Be An African
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of which everybody imitates
My Africa of which culture exceed the Greek
My Africa of which everyone is jealous of
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of enormous natural endowment
My Africa of Non-Violence
My Africa of Amorous populates
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of patriot men and women
My Africa of shelter and vintage hospitality
My Africa of great ancestral mythology
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa that bore fruits of black diamonds
My Africa which is a gift to the whole world
My Africa of great leadership
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of learned youths
My Africa of a bright generation
My Africa true tradition
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of black pageant women
My Africa of strong men
My Africa from who we all hail from
For every African deserves a Nobel Prize in
Existence.
poem by Fasan paul
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Only a fool believes that the clouds obscure the splendour of the moon. It has shined behind them for eternity.
I'm a proud African child
I'm a pretty bud
growing out of the mud,
I'm a blessed child -
tame and free in mind,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm a precious stone,
neither am I broken nor torn,
A precious stone am I -
treasure to the nation's eye,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm a star in midnight
which gives a spark of light,
Like a diamond in the sky
I dwell with pride in the high,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm the hope for the future,
a pure seed of true virtue,
A fragrant leaf of uncorrupt nature,
A beneficiary of unlimited adventure,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm a child of God
out of doom and gloom called,
I'm more precious than gold
and even more special than a goat,
I'm really a Proud African Child.
poem by Comfort Ndlovu
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Third culture kid
I'm a third culture kid-
a hidden immigrant;
I seem to fit in;
I've got blonde hair,
white skin and an English accent;
to look at me
you'd never realise where i've been;
that part of me is South East Asian,
American, Scottish, African, Australian;
I grew up in Hong Kong
but went to school in the United Kingdom;
first in Scotland, then in Kent;
my parents are both South African,
my boyfriend's from Spain
and my father works and lives in Bahrain-
to look at me you'd think I fit in
but i'm a third culture kid, an alien;
I just live in Britian!
poem by Danielle Moffat
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The African Son Glides
to elders he respect
under realistic rules he perfects
orders strength with patience
conquers foes with confidence
so much expected of his mature
too much needed of his nature
conspicuous eyes an African Son glides!
runs and roars like a tiger
laughs and lutes like a bird
honest to his kindness
loyal to his stubbornness
so long he longs for wisdom
for long strives for success
conspicuous eyes an African son glides!
an ancient mind of inabilities
such anxious heart of possibilities
that he climbs with pride
then denotes his cultures
yet lives for his tradition
a standing ovation!
are you an African son?
he cries not to wounds
he dispense not to scars
spites the evil lights
hates the evil sparks
conspicuous eyes an African Son glides!
arts in his intelligence
a kingdom of no redundancy
a divine world of innovation
enhanced in terms of denotation
thus music to his soul he enjoys
mixed lyrics to mind he bind
a true definition!
he extremes to extinction
leads with an elephant memory
controls with dirty hands of good
a bird flying low
but high enough not to be recognized
he lives in Africa and calls Africa home,
yes! min mind and spirit
a standing ovation!
becomes a prince to his father
that son is is what his mother refers
an example to his siblings
a secret admire of no faulse to the fantasy world
he lives Africa and so speaks
he dreams an African dream and true it becomes
he is the son to the land because
conspicuous eyes an African son glides
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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