MEDITERRANEAN SEA AND AFRICAN YOUTHS.

Abysmal and thunderous, roaring like a male Lion.

Your mouth opens wide to swallow as many that trespass.

Our youths are reducing, only Papas, Mamas and babies remain to watch the lizards on the walls.

Thousands have gone, millions yet to come by.

Their flesh become a meat for your inhabitants and their bones rest in your belly.

From ages to ages, you remain what you are, a long hand of magnet.

The history lives and the news spread, yet the children of Africa come to you.

The Seekers of greener pastures from the backdoor patronize you and the Arabians feed you with the souls they condemn.

Oh Mediterranean sea!

Do you really beckon on them to come?

Does your Queen feed on blood?

By nightfall they thread on you, “ lampa- lampa”, a 50/50 adventure.

Your salt is a sword and your coldness than snow

How would they survive when they fall into you?

On their arrival to their ends, their inoculate struggle betray them still.

Many fall off and struggle, a dance of death in the chilling salty aqua.

Except for the smartness of good souls that give a helping hand, their flesh is a meat for the sharks and their skeletons decorate your palace.

Mothers are weeping, many are waiting, waiting but in vain.

Many hope for the arrival of African children who journeyed through your yard.

Hoping and waiting but most blood is sprinkled on your bosom.

Would they stop coming to you? Would you ever vomit the bones of Africa to live again?