He was born beneath the Baobab tree
Where time begins and runs
The dusty streets of Africa
Searching for lost sons.
While others left to fight and die
For gems beneath the ground,
He wandered with his father’s cows
Far from the battle sound.
In scorching heat he traveled far,
Following the rain
From Congo’s mighty cataracts
To Serengeti’s plain.
He seemed to live a sacred life
At peace with everything
Until his cows were massacred
In battle’s mighty sting.
With all his fortune ripped apart
Rotting in the sun,
His hunger could no longer wait
For peaceful times to come.
At once he joined the desperate fight
With all the boys his age;
Too small to even grip the gun
Or even earn a wage.
I saw him there beneath the tree
Lying like at birth;
His body torn by greedy men,
His blood upon the earth.
He was born beneath the Baobab tree
Where time began to run
The dusty streets of Africa
Searching for her son.
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