Our Heritage: Poetry for AfricaOur Heritage: Poetry for Africa
When breasts like hills stood on their chests And babies never began to ride on their backs, The living dead, our incomparable jewels Dared not rub faeces on the faces[...]
When breasts like hills stood on their chests And babies never began to ride on their backs, The living dead, our incomparable jewels Dared not rub faeces on the faces[...]