Poetry and Meditations
SOUND FROM AFRICA
Unbent, unbroken, blessed over the ages
Sages of beauty, the faces of royalty
Snatched from birth homes, lost before dawn
Packed in death droves across known and uncharted lands
A royal line of brazen chains, necks of servitude
A caravan of living shining black skins and brown riches
Bent, broken with long walks of fading hopes
The first note of the sound from Africa
Thirsty, hungry, angry, but words don’t do
Justice, humanity, compassion but such don’t do in the heart of the sons of pride
Their hands on the black riches and shining pieces of pains
Their eyes on the blue horizon called home
Right across the landless waters of separation
The undulating topography of the ancient slave routes
The second note of the sound from Africa
The gagging, choking sound of silent death
The piercing eyes that looks in horror
Chained hands that can’t offer the help of brotherhood
For in giving help, the cracking sound of hard whip on black back resound
A sharp cry, a coil in the corner of darkness and a lose of identity
A wish for the cold hands of death that brings peace
For death is peace and peace is death
The third note of the sound from Africa
Bent and broken, seen over the ages
Pens of blood and water re-writing the pages
Sages of beauty, slaves of Truth
Snatched from darkness, set in liberty
A long line of noble notes, the black side of music
Risen from the ashes, dressed in gold armor
A caravan of horses and a movement of spirits
For in the bent and broke furnace of heat and despair
comes the sound of the blue shofar of justice,
bringing forth healing, restoration and rebirth to the nations
For with the African narrative of blood and sacrifice
Comes the fourth note
The harmony of the sound from Africa
For the emancipation of the sons of pride
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