Our women are gone

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Our women are gone
we are married to ghosts
we stay all night weeping for them
weeping for glory days past
when our women were dark and proud
walking tall in the noonday sun
we would beat our chest loudly
that is my woman in the marketplace
until they sent us a vile disease
to wipe out our women and leave us
this disease that first made them mad
mad so much as to hate their skin
this skin which made them envied
by white women in the western halls
in madness they peeled their skin
in pain we watched them turn white
poisoned by their own hands we saw
now they walk among us pale shadows
grey ghosts in our own cold beds
our children know them no more
for the mothers of black Africa are no longer black.
                     

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