O Zanzibar of Oman crib!
When beyond the Kenyan heights your horns did holler
Its roar redeemed, from my weary limbs,
A glimpse of the fears of a Bantu slave.
That hence from rivers of the pristine littoral,
Washed by a stately splash of Majestic Atlantic,
I set to bask in the sun beams of green Africa,
Your iron and steel gagged my move to redeem.
Letters, amidst a cry from Nubia, spring from Timbuktu
Spare, O Zanzibar, this remnant of a rainbow!
For once, along the Limpopo, it graced my mother’s neck.
Her beads, from old Ibadan, through the City of Prawns,
Are scattered across these mountains, broken bear by your regime.
In abject solitude, I stand with limbs drooping by my sides
As your hand weakens my frame with its iron and its steel.
This yoke is mine to bear; this incumbrance of my enslavement,
For they that seek the truth of all the ages now and then:
The journey of a Bantu slave is the walk of a god.
Blessed E. Ngoe