Across her oceans-skies,—
To Africa’s abodes,—
From where the African in friendship calls
Man has journeyed to and fro, now alone!
From lands of north and south,—
From seas of west and east,—
Against the winds of paradise
And valleys where shrub and rains grow
Here from, one saith:
The sons of man have found
The Great Zimbabwe’s crown
For thine is holy ground.
Deathless star, behold thy brow
Treasure and trophies are not to be found.
Lo! What mysterious death
Do we draw upon our chest?
Confirmed by prophets long old
Behold the greatness of their mind, soul
From there lands, thunder and fire:
The King moves in the dew
Lays, new commandments on his people
With black visions of gloom.
The King’s heart has music
He makes the seraph, he shall be:
If he could, the sun would not rise,
To set forth more days of death
With exultant breath!...
And cry victory, across the seas
Like a Titan, seeing all men small:
This is your king, your King:
—Your King of Africa!..
Note by the author: “Voices are crying from the dust lands to the coast of Africa, from the ancient pillars to their new foundations [desires]—they cry to the world for help, prosperity, before they parish, like a blink in the sun. They say, we are all one; they are just not the lucky ones.” *855 9/16/05
