Member Poem

(On the Exploitation of Africa’s Resources)

Beneath the soil, where silence weeps,
Lie riches locked in endless sleep.
Yet hands unseen, with hungry claws,
Extract the wealth, ignore the laws.

Gold drips like honey from the veins,
Yet hunger howls, yet thirst remains.
The diamond’s gleam, the oil’s embrace,
Still leave the poor with hollowed grace.

The rivers cough up poisoned breath,
The forests gasp, embracing death.
The sky turns gray, the earth turns black,
And yet they never give it back.

The hands that mine, the backs that bend,
They break, they toil, they meet their end.
The land is bled, its lifeblood drained,
Yet still, its children die in chains.

The rulers sign with ink that burns,
A future sold, no past returns.
The deals are made in rooms of glass,
Yet only ghosts can touch the brass.

The soil still whispers, "I was free,"
Yet now it weeps in misery.
For what is wealth when none can hold?
Just ashes left, where once was gold.