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O Africa you like a mother of many children abused, insulted, brutalised, and abandoned you bore your beautiful black children and they were dispersed like leaves in the dry season flying, sinking, dropping falling in mid-air some sliding smoothly in the cold breeze others rushing in the harsh storm that blows them to distant places do you often wonder how your children could leave you naked hungry and unprotected leave you to stand unguarded defenseless to be bought for bags of rice of millet to be seduced and abandoned BLACK MOTHER BLACK MOTHER, MOTHER, BLACK, BLACK MOTHER! we have not deserted you we learn the deceivers' ways their tricks we learn, we prepare to rescue you protect you and feed you your sons and daughters are spilled around the world working for the day that great day when a great army shall converge upon you the army of your sons and daughters an army of doctors, engineers Warriors, Warriors, Warrrrrriors, Warriors, Warriors, Warriors Warriors farmers, clerks, your scribes and more Warriors they join and shout burn down the fortresses of the robbers put them in the dungeon they built to carry away our mothers and sisters our brothers strike the bastards with their own weapons BLACK MOTHER we shall do this in their own tongue with their own weapons their own logic their own logic and we shall LIBERATE YOU FOREVER, FOREVER we shall strike the bastards the apes the sons of the cavemen and kiss our dear BLACK MOTHER the day is coming coming fast BLACK MOTHER I know you say you have heard this before yes but each son of your who says strike the bastards says it with renewed vigour and meaning with more anger they mean it BLACK MOTHER, MOTHER, BLACK, BLACK MOTHER too long have they left you standing naked in the rain too long in the sun the bastards took your spice they stole your gold your diamonds they raped your daughters, our sisters enslaved your sons your beautiful black sons now they go to work on your iron body each day transported across the sea your ebony, mahagony your strong limbs splintered and shipped for decorations of the bastards' homes your sweet lovely fruit plucked, sucked to nourish your captors and their sons and their sons' sons but it shall not be long again BLACK MOTHER, MOTHER, MOTHER, BLACK, BLACK MOTHER your strong powerful sons will march on your captors strike, strike the bastards who desecrate our BLACK MOTHER strike, strike, strike, strike strrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkke strike. |
Khasu, Kona. “Invocation – Black Mother.” The Seeds of Time: A Collection of Poems. Mimeographed typescript. Monrovia, 1971. 38–41.
| Line | Typescript | Changed to |
| [title] | Invocation--Black Mother | Invocation – Black Mother |
| 12 | in the hash storm that blows | in the harsh storm that blows |
| 43 | farmers, clerks, your scribers | farmers, clerks, your scribes |
| 50 | strike the bastard | strike the bastards |
| 73 | [after second "BLACK": double space] | [after second "BLACK": single space] |
| 76 | to long in the sun | too long in the sun |
| 79 | your diamond | your diamonds |
| 90 | of the bastard's homes | of the bastards' homes |
| 96 | bit it shall not be long again | but it shall not be long again |
| 101 | the bastard who desecrate our BLACK MOTHER | the bastards who desecrate our BLACK MOTHER |
