"The Veil of Dust"
They told the child of Africa: “You are small,”
While he stood upon a land that could feed them all.
They bent his back with lies and chains,
Yet drank his gold, and mined his plains.
They wrote him out of ancient lore,
Though pyramids rose from Nubian shore.
They called him dark—not just in skin,
But as if no light could dwell within.
For centuries long, they shaped the tale:
That Africa was doomed to fail.
They fed him borders, stole his voice,
Then claimed “You’ve always had the choice.”
But hidden deep beneath his feet,
Lie treasures rare and power sweet.
Thirty percent of the Earth’s own core—
Its beating heart, its mineral store.
The cobalt, copper, diamonds gleam,
The fuel of every modern dream.
While youth surges in every street,
With minds unbroken, spirits fleet.
Yet still the world portrays him weak,
While all the strength they dare not speak.
His leaders wear the master’s coat,
And trade his worth for foreign vote.
A fractured crown, a silenced tongue,
But he is many, he is young.
And he remembers—now he knows,
What history tried to never show.
Africa is not a distant flame,
But roaring fire, denied its name.
And though the mirror shows him small,
He is the one who holds it all.
Let him rise—not just to see—
But to be the power he's meant to be.
For the lie was loud, but truth is near:
Africa was never meant to fear.
(Author unknown).
