HERITAGE by Micah Akampurira

Oh ancient whispers, 

You prance through the savanna, 

'What we used to be' 

You twinkle the stars, 

And prismatically radiate, 

The sun on us all, 

I accept it all 

Oh my continent, 

So used to living on her knees, 

She forgot how to walk, 

I accept it all 

  

Cursed to slavery, 

Or at least a vessel for leaches, 

And moths to eat us 

Right up, they do not 

  

But we do need you, 

Tell them that their soul is worth 

The meat it inhabits, 

I, at time, do too 

As this soul I'm on, 

Says normally at 47, 

We are altogether  

Beautiful, and when bygones 

whisper of flawlessness, 

I accept them all.