Somewhere I heard a Negro cry...Of talk buried deep in dreams...The words more ours came back to me...Savage lines against my memory...Black hands and feet and faces...The act of heritage past...My pen; Responding to the fury in my mind...Like a blade of grass bending to the wind...My language was theirs...Their pain was mine...I spoke as if it was a second tongue...My rage has captured my poems utterly...As I write the pencil inflict deep sore...Wounded I edit...Gnawing away at these foreign Vocabularies to make the maniac statement...And let the spirit live
I have walked for many years
My journey has no end
And I seek no end
To the curse that hunts me-
The more I studied
The more I added an inch
The one ecstasy granted to the race of men-
As I walk I bless the earth under my feet
Learning to doubt my history book
Through part the wild ewe could not trod
To the curse that haunts me-
I needed the days ahead
To look to learn and to understand
As I make plans specifically to rediscover my root
Designed to achieve selfdom-
As I edit my poems a word awaits me
A world ready to be born
It seems to me it asking for a sign from me
It seem to say it has great gift before me
I needed to seek I needed
The curse that haunts me
it is truly tragic when the people in power dissolve communities to the point of extinction.
No regard for the overall broadreach of our actions (and inactions) and no responsibility for the hardships we create by sitting on a bank account worth millions.
1 comments:
it is truly tragic when the people in power dissolve communities to the point of extinction.
No regard for the overall broadreach of our actions (and inactions) and no responsibility for the hardships we create by sitting on a bank account worth millions.
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