What atrocities have passed
Before your burning eyes?
Too much, no doubt,
But it hasn’t singed your soul;
For you still stand proud;
The passions of an estranged motherland
Strain every pore of your battle-weary face;
Wisdom burns from eyes set ablaze
Next to the turbulent mystery of the Niger.
Unflinching in your manhood,
Unscathed by your past,
King only of the hill you stand upon,
Yet,
Clearly, an African prince
In this new place.
Stoic Black Man, Sweet Prince,
We bestow a treasure before you
That befits your greatness
And transcend all others.
Behold
your princess!
Your Alpha, Your Omega;
Your past, your present,
and future;
Your pleasure, your pain;
Your subject, And your Queen:
Like a Nubian Jewel,
this midnight beauty,
nature’s gem to all mankind;
Her smile reminisce
Of children playing,
Almond eyes of sparkling wine.
Ashanti mane crown sweet perfection,
whose smokey passion lies dormant still,
In restless slumber, impatiently waiting,
her blazing fire to be revealed.
sweet jewel,
Let us gaze upon God’s grace, as you
Come forth to assume
your throne.
Embrace your man
And declare to the world,
You love him, and him alone:
As long
as sweet Nature’s
thrusting thighs,
are caressed by
the ocean’s surging tides,
let it be made
in this moment clear,
that nothing means
as much as he,
my dear.
And
When there’s
no more twinkle
in heaven’s eye, and
the blazing Sun
ceases to heat the sky,
let it be made
in that moment clear,
you’ll love him even then--
in the dark,
my dear.
God Bless My children.
God Bless This Union,
And may its sweet juices
flow with the passion
of the mighty Niger.
In my father’s name I pray,
Mother Africa.
Ashanti, Ashanti, Ashanti.
Eric L. Wattree