You Left

You left
never to return
chased away by my ghosts
lurking in your future
It is strange
how your ecstasies
and my total
willing
surrender
should
now haunt
rather than
hallow
the spots that bore them witness
Glad
(for your sake)
that you could
leave
my world
escape
my ghosts
Sad
you do not even seem to know
you left behind
the thousand ghosts
you brought
into
my world

BUTTERFLIES ARE MEANT TO BE FREE

I was a butterfly
floating
from tree
to tantalizing tree
flitting feverishly
from flower
to fascinating flower
drinking deep
sucking
storing

Then I drifted
into your beckoning branches
You gave me everything
quenched my needs
you nectar
perennial
royal jelly
flowing
strong
and sweet
and I heard you whisper
s t a y…….

Bewitched
I hung up my wings
kicked off my legs
and lay
content at home
in your bosom.

Then it happened
You unstretched your arms
closed your flowers
shut off the juices
flowing from your honeyed fruit
I wonder why
until in reflection
the pool below flashes forth
my anti-
meta-
morphosis

Distressed
I long to fly again
but cannot find my wings
I try to walk away
my legs have atrophied

Butterflies are meant to be free
but to be beautiful
and free
Butterflies
must remain
Butterflies

THE STRUGGLE GOES ON

Africa
Sixteenth Century:
While I tilled African soil
so intimately familiar with my footsteps,
digging stick, sweat and resting bones,
Land that gave me sustenance
(for generations, centuries and millenia)
and unites my here and now
with my yesterdays and my tomorrows,
The man came.
The man took it all away.
Agine was no longer mine
Nor I Aginena.

St Vincent
Eighteenth Century:
An all but lifeless thing
drifting in time and space, I
and I chanced upon Yurumein,
a new beginning and a new set of footsteps
retaceable to the upper branches of the Amazon;
Africa grafted upon Amerindian stock, I
and I felt my roots grasp firm and deep
Yurumein soil, whence drew I
life and a new tomorrow.
The man came; I stood my ground.
The man returned, and yet again.
Satuye fell; and so did I..
Yurumei was no longer mine
Nor I Yurumeina.

Belize,
Twentieth Century:
Dragged and dispatched, defeated,
Dispossessed, undaunted spirit, I
and I stumbled unto Belizean shore
amid stares from many faces of the globe
including African brothers, American cousins,
my fellow victims of the man.
To this land of the Gods came I,
and I, with the optimism of Beni, the hope of Ramos,
my drum, cassava stick and fishing line,
offered myself and my yesterdays to the new
Land of the Free – for all my tomorrows.
The man is gone, they say,
with the despots, the tyrants.
Yet I can see his covetous eyes plastered
on faces staring at me and my land now for free.
Balisi is my last stop, says I,
and I and my tomorrows all Balisina.
Agine  – Africa
Aginena – African
Yurumei – St. Vincent
Yurumeina – Vincentian
Balisi  – Belize
Balisina – Belizean

IN HIS WORLD

In his world
his laboratory
he sat and worked
cool
rational
erudite
dissecting analyzing
life and love
relationships
imposing
order
pattern  ….

Then it came
the explosion
he felt
even he
the searing sweet pain
of love and longing
the contribo taste
of hate and hurt
the fishing line tangle
of human interaction.

Academic robes
blown off
tongue-tied
he marvelled
his perceptions
had sharpened
his insights
d
e
e
p
e
n
e
d

UNCOMPROMISINGLY DREAD

Yes I?m the dread man
dreaded because I dare
to lay your soul bare
to your own scrutiny
Look at me
brother
see your alienated
loved
hated
primordial self
accuse you of accommodation
of selling out
to your downpressors
for a few glass beads
tinkling toys
and a mess of rottage
Look at my locks
raining over my shoulders
flying free in God?s breeze
my mane that screams the proud litany
of our ancestor kings
that you?e betrayed
yes brother behold my hair
and yours (whose nakedness
you were suddenly made to see)
and hide behind
the fig leaf of grease
and heat machines
Behold me
Uncompromisingly
kingly
kinky
knotty
natty
and dread I
for reminding you
of the true self
you?re trying so hard
so hard to forget

 

Naughty you say
No
brother
natty
kingly
and proud
as you too could have been
it?s o.k.
brother
hate me
disown me
persecute me
as your new-found friends
have decreed
because
I refuse
the glass beads
the tinkling toys
the mess
the grease and
the heat machines
Belittle me
brother
paint me contemptible
to hide your envy
Hate and persecute me
so you won?t have
to loathe
yourself
for accepting