Leopold’s ghost still resides
In chips and sims which hide
Within mobile phones
Made from the bones
Of Congolese men
And raped women.
To pleasure western minds
With material treasures
Hark bark to Belgian pleasures.
Lost hands from children line forest floors
If not enough rubber poured
Into the casts of tyres.
Hear mothers cry
As every European advance in technology
Still comes at the cost of African solidarity.
The bomb that made Hiroshima boil
Came from Uranium beneath Congo’s soil.
Millions dying at the hands of Belgium
The invasion of whom started World War One.
Britain aligned once more with evil.
And this just the prequel
To humanitarian disaster
That saw the West throw love after
The gorilla’s plight. But we missed
The fate of the humans in the midst.
Power on your cell phone, but enter
A start up message that maybe I should text ya,
From Congo for all these years.