Africa! I cry.
I cry for the minds of your Leaders;
And the Leaders of your mind-Deprived You.
For your choice remains your want.
Your priced Possession for your common Progression
are your very wastes!

A waste of Leaders through whims of Riggers,
For yours are Leaders whose heart
Are your very cries, yet maimed.
The stem of your Roots for the Fruition of your Nation.
Your Head, Africa, is your sickness
though your body’s perfect,
You are seen sick!

I accuse you Africa,
Of silence.
Of silence, Africa, when your choice-at your very reach-
eludes you.
As urine is not water’s substitute near a bank
So your Riggers are not for your Leaders.
Only your cry, Africa, is mine’s cure!