My Africa

by Sammy Attoh / January 11th, 2026


    My Africa draped in the black crepe
              of mourning
              for the dispersion of my sons and daughters
    My Africa where incendiary dreams and stories
            untold are buried deep in the oceans
            and the echoes, the echoes
    The echoes, the echoes, I hear the echoes of the cries of my
          children across the oceans
    My Africa where I hear the moon steps in the
         corridor of the of the sun
         to have intercourse while kissing the Nile
    My Africa, My Africa in the Litany of her woes
       Cries and cries where are my children
       where is my Golden Africa

Sammy Attoh is a Human Rights Coordinator, poet, and public writer. A member of The Riverside Church in New York City and The New York State Chaplains Group, he advocates for spiritual renewal and systemic justice. Originally from Ghana, his work draws on ancestral wisdom to explore the sacred ties between people, planet, and posterity, grounding his public voice in a deep commitment to human dignity and global solidarity. Read other articles by Sammy.

This article was posted on Sunday, January 11th, 2026 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.