January 16th, 2008
Ode: to the King of Africa
Ode: to the King of Africa
Across her oceans-skies,—
To Africa’s abodes,— From where the African in friendship calls Man has journeyed to and fro, now alone!
From lands of north and south,—
From seas of west and east,— Against the winds of paradise And valleys where shrub and rains grow
Here from, one saith:
The sons of man have found The Great Zimbabwe’s crown
For thine is holy ground. Deathless star, behold thy brow Treasure and trophies are not to be found.
Lo! What mysterious death
Do we draw upon our chest? Confirmed by prophets long old Behold the greatness of their mind, soul
From there lands, thunder and fire:
The King moves in the dew Lays, new commandments on his people With black visions of gloom.
The King’s heart has music
He makes the seraph, he shall be: If he could, the sun would not rise,
To set forth more days of death
With exultant breath!… And cry victory, across the seas Like a Titan, seeing all men small:
This is your king, your King: