By John Penn de Ngong
The Black Christs of Africa
You, O saviours, I salute,
With due honours absolute
To you, whether here on earth,
Or who weather there in the hearth.
No vain salvation with blood.
We the heirs of your vein flood
Believe our crises have been atoned
By you our Christs that have been stoned.
Being black is not being blank.
Our Herods crucified our heroes,
But their Bloc can’t block the Blacks’.
Hail Martyrs, to heaven your souls sail.
As we here in Africa
Remain heir in a free care,
Our redeemers, it’s you we owe;
Our Motherland, it’s you we own.
The Blood Donors of Africa
The donors of blood
Are redeemers of life,
Of patients who cry flood,
In bitter search for sweet life.
Before they get floored
On their earth death beds, they strive
For s/he that drains his own veins
To irrigate the dry life,
Is not a saviour in vain.
Our land is a hospital of strife,
Where bloody war vans
Are burned with a million donors of life.
Blood is the cocoon of life,
And s/he that offers blood,
Donates with it his own life.
The rivers and floods of blood,
With multitudes of Christly life,
Have redeemed our beloved Bilhad
St. John Garang
His name is John,
Who baptized us with blood
And fire of nationalism in the Nile.
A practical Pastor,
Who preached the message of peace,
And unity on the podium of justice.
A professional Doctor,
Who prescribed medicines of freedom
Against indignity and serfdom
On our own soil.
A firm farmer,
Who sowed seeds of prosperity,
And self-determination for posterity,
With a nuclear tractor.
A gallant General,
Who led a resistance against the wall of Jericho,
And felled it down,
With a hundredfold armies by thousandfold enemies.
The Black Christ of Africa,
Prophet Moses II,
Martin Luther King III,
John the Baptist II,
Beheaded for being big-headed
Against illegitimate inheritance of our Mother.
St. John II is whole alive,
For heroes do not die,
They – into political hibernation – dive
And – in historical metamorphosis – lie
In an actively fossilized volcanic ambush,
To erupt into another hero in arms or bush.
Saint John Garang,
A political martyr and missionary,
Sent John Garang,
A historical revolutionary and visionary.
Sudan will never be the same again,
Said John Garang.
Abandoned, the Blacks became abundant and
Redundant. He saw them resorting to their socio-economic
Idol worshipping as they were damn
Idle. Yet their miserable life that had
Cordoned them off into their health-gagged ghettos was
Condoned by their overwhelmingly wealth-gagged geckos.
Reasons, as such, made him braved
Prisons, where he met his comrades
Rot. For the very cause, he did
Not surrender to the racial abuse of
Apartheid, whose architects’ political
Appetite was the Blacks’ gaping abyss.
Nelson Mandela was the native African
Nail sown under the suppressive exotic cushion.
Because he was annoyed with the unholy spread of Afrikaan racism,
Of course he was anointed with the oily spirit of African nationalism,
Rust or rot never destroyed his vision and mission in captivity as he did
Trust not the harmnesty from the faces of the fascists and racists.
Downloaded his roles from our African Dinosaurs
–Nailson Man-dela –
Uploaded these roles to our African die-innocents.
Hail Samora Machel.
Hail John Garang de Mabior, and all the
Black martyrs of Africa, the
Black Christs of Africa.
Martin Luther King II
Martin Luther is King.
He’s not a losers’ king.
The seeds of freedom he has sown,
The seat of reformation he has shown,
Like the White Martin, Luther I
Who filtered Protestantism from Catholicism,
The Black Martin, Luther II
Fostered protectionism against Racism.
It was from his footstep
That Rosa Park
Rose not to pack
For a white passenger.
Turning into a wild messenger,
She defied the white man
And defined the black man
In the history of mankind in America
With the story of man coming from Africa.
It was from her footstep
That women put a fullstop
To mark their marginalization,
To make their realization
In the world all of a sudden.
Like the Katipa Banat of Sudan,
The women battalions,
Warrior wives of battle lions,
Who played their roles in the fights,
Paid and paved the way for their rights.
Who killed him
Has not him killed.
‘Twas his nation
By his notion.
Not just assassination,
‘Tis an assassin-nation,
A painful assassin-notion,
With unjust expel-a-nation,
Tagged with political investingation,
Coz he took an irreversible dierection.
Those who click crocodile tears,
May they lick crocked-dialed tears
The Lion of Jubah
In his days came
The Lion of Judah,
Armed with peace and justice,
A lawyer-cum-liberator of Judah,
To lift off the yoke of law
From adulteresses on the list of stoning,
To see free his people
From the spi-ritual yoke of slavery.
Though his sole was nailed,
His soul was hailed.
His mission today we enjoin,
His vision tomorrow we’ll enjoy,
Continued by his flag bearer,
The Holy Guest.
First was a Lion of Israel,
The great liberator-cum- prophet,
Who roared in the face of Pharaoh,
And offloaded the boulders of pyramids
From his people in serfdom in Egypt.
He led them across the Reed Sea,
Into the Promised Land of freedom in Israel,
Though his body crashed on Mount Carmel,
His vision, his mission rush in his people,
Furthered by his flag bearer, Joshua.
In our days exists
The Lion of Jubah,
The Lion of Nubah,
The Lion of the Nile,
To relieve his people
Of the buckets of human dung,
Of the yoke of slave trade,
To batter serfdom with his knife,
To barter freedom with his life.
His vision and mission,
Our chronic drunkenness,
Refueled by spirit of nationalism,
Championed by our Joshua,
Gen. Solver or Sulpha-Quine,
In the Israelites’ days lived
Other lions of Judah,
On the obverse side of the coin,
With the adverse side of the toil.
Those Judases of Judah,
Once furnished with flakes,
Were punished with plagues,
Or the cheated earth opened its mouth
And swallowed them
Before they opened their mouths
And swallowed her.
Lo, Judases of Jubah,
Armed with teeth of injustice,
Once furnished with cornflakes,
And punished with conflicts,
Behold and be warned,
Shouldn’t you shut your mouths,
The Promised Land will send her moths.