O Africa, my Africa
how I miss you already
how I long for you to be cared for and loved.
O Africa, my Africa
how sad I am like a mother who has had her child ripped from her arms to be trampled,
I long to be with you and care for your beautiful, multi-toned children.
O Africa, my Africa
my prayer for you is that many will go and give their love for you,
you who have been abandoned and raped and destroyed.
My heart is sad and tears form now in my eyes.
I sit and ruminate about why the door has been slammed in my face when I am able and willing to care for you.
Well, perhaps I'll still get to be there for you and myself by the time I'm 40.
I think I've been in mourning for you for nearly a week now.
I try to focus and not just get distracted at work, but all the while wanting to not be a hypocrite.
I pray that desire will be birthed in people's hearts to care for you as I do and that they will go and help as I long to do.
The tears come down now hot upon my face.
Sadness. Mourning. Desperation. Restlessness. Why?
What open doors lie in wait for me now?
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