Baskadia

Africa, giant mother Africa;

Africa you are bitter.

Though rich be your soil,

Speckled with gold diamond and oil,

And palms dot your beautiful landscape

Of green hills and colourful lakes.

Yet you weep lovelorn,

Over those children, to you born.

Who have deserted your fertile grounds,

Where their freedom had no bounds.

Journeying to lands faraway,

Thronging away with each passing day.

In quest of lush vegetations,

Not greater than Africa's possessions.