Africa my home, 'oh, black my dear skin
Gloom you possess not, nor diabolic,
It just that our sense is a systemic
Disease, which destroys and leads us to sin.

Revenge not! For our fault is dark as stain,
Which others refers as epidemic
Rather spare us the colour of panic
And let not your meta-handworks waste in vain.

Run-away seeds are they, those weak blind bats
Who seeks only but lust and gold for pleasure,
For they shall return like an escape goats,
When triumph give them a sense of closure.

Mother grant us the access to good path
And the strength to express ourselves on earth.

RENAISSANCE CHIDOZIE

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/africa-my-home-2/