I am the winds of Africa.

I am the winds whispered by the ancients of the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela,

the winds that have heard the murmurs of the ancestors at Great Zimbabwe.

I am the winds of the Upemba,

I am the winds resting at Mapungubwe,

I am the winds above Giza,

I am the winds of the Songhai,

I am the winds of the Djenné-Djenno,

I am the winds of the Numidia,

I have breathed across these lands,

these lands have breathed into me.

I have witnessed colonialists carving up my continent,

I have heard screams of mothers and children,

I have seen the slave-ships set sail,

I carry the memories of my people manacled, and bound in chains. 

I have heard the shrieks of my people,

I have seen my lands plundered,

I have borne witness to murder,

to oppression,

to tyranny,

I have caressed far too many bruised bodies, 

I have dried far too many mothers tears. 

I am the winds of Africa. 

I embrace the hope my people carry,

I feel it thud-thudding in their veins,

I encompass my lands bathed with renewed spirit each dawn, 

I encompass my lands infused with hope each morn.

I am the winds of Africa.

A Poem by Afzal Moolla