15/04/2026
My Mother
(all the black mothers
whose children have left)
You thought me to wait
as you waited in difficult times.
But life
killed in me that mystical hope
I no longer wait
I am the one to whom it is waited
It is I
my Mother
hope is us
your children
left for a faith that feeds the life
Today
we are the naked children of the ghettos in the bushes
the boys without school playing with a ragged ball
on the sands at noon
We are our own selves
the contracted workers burning their lives in the coffee plantations
the ignorant black men
who must respect the white
and fear the rich
We are your children
from the black ghettos
where electricity does not reach
The drunken men falling
abandoned to the rhythm of the drumbeat of death
Your children
hungry
thirsty
ashmed of calling you Mother
With fear of crossing the streets
afraid of men
ourselves
Tomorrow
We will sing hyms of freedom
when we celebrate
The date of slavery abolition
We will go in search of the light
your children Mother
(all the black mothers
whose children have left)
Will go in search of life.
Dr. Agostinho Neto
