Strangled in the North, the Equator-– Ngbadolite, Ngemena, to the Ubangui border-– In the center, Tetela land––
In the south, the land of copper, Katanga, Cornered on all sides, deprived country, Following the indomitable flows of its destiny.
Screams are so deep,
Yet the silence around, so guilty. Today, his ride is clothed
With the shameful robe of inhumanity. Land of misfortune;
Only the heavens, your ultimate succors.
Under an exchange of lethal weaponry
Flow these words seen by some as senseless. To shout here, to cry there,
Another life passing away.
Sterile, prostituted land,
You surrender your virginity to the first client. What is your gift?
Far are jambo, betu, sangu nabetu–– Words of fraternity,
Words of hospitality, Memories that are no more.
Listen to the thunder of the west; See image of injury and famine.
The giant monument of sand collapses progressively, Is now without identity, without name.
From his dominance of the darkness
We hunger for deliverance.
In the center of Africa
Suffering and death violently swallow
All in its path.
Between the equator and the tropics, A lion lies down without strength,
A weak beast in illness.
Torn between life and death
A people succumbs;
The people of Congo weep, lament, despair.
– Nomad: a refugee poet