The Poems, 'On Africa' (The Diaspora), 'Speak!' and 'Black Love', are from the book, 'Whispers of the Wind', by this author.
On Africa (The
Diaspora)
Out of the dark soil of Africa we came
with our babies and with our songs
we came
in ships without number
we came
from giants who now slumber
we came
trusting like fools
we came
stolen and shackled
we came
betrayed by our brothers
we came
we were theirs for the taking
we came
we came with gold in our ears, and
with jewelled feet (though it looked like iron shackles)
we came
walking proudly, standing tall and fierce
we came
each step unsure, unsteady, each moment in doubt, still
we came
by the millions
we came
some of us were drowned, but
we came
fighting, still
we came
to unknown lands, far from our home
we came
with strange and new customs that govern us
we came
we stood tall, erect and proud, never bowing down
in the face of adversity
we came
we took our place in history, nothing new!
we came
we were there long before, standing beside the
brave ones,
we came as the proud ones, the beautiful people
who did not bowed down
we came
our grandmothers too came, with stories from old,
from Africa
they told us about Anansi, the spider and trickster
and other tales
we came
we learned to be like Anansi, the trickster
we came
they came to teach the young ones of their past,
not as the present looked to them
they were not slaves, but mothers and wives and
sisters, even queens and kings
they came
entire royal families came, their heritage lost forever
because they came
all of this, so that the other could gain
we came
but if we remember our past, we would not think
that it is okay, to be a slave
the black slave today, is in mental slavery
our brothers in Africa, are greedy and selfish
(nothing’s change)
we cannot blame the white man any longer
if he thought that you were stupid
when did you prove him wrong?
All men are created the same in the eyes of god.
Copyright: 1999, revised 2011, by Valerie Tsigi Guillaume
Speak!
I
should not
speak
or else,
they
shall cut out my
tongue and set the
dogs on me, or
lock me
up
but I
must speak
for the tongue
has its own
rhythm
mine said
tell them what
you saw and heard
leave it upon stones
for the people
to judge
I
don’t argue
with my tongue
for my life
depends on
it
Copyright: 1999, revised 2011, by Valerie Tsigi Guillaume
Black Love
Fearless, passionate, original
and quite frankly awesome
intellectual, intimidating and
oh yes! captivating
it is fearless as an eagle seeking its prey
it is gold dipped in chocolate, or
chocolate covered in gold, so I am told
fresh and new, like a bowl of cherries
though it is passed down through many generations
it is still sweet and delicious, like the pomegranate
only more delicious
as tempting as the strongest wine
that goes down smoothly, and which
leaves stains upon one's lips, after
they have drunk, or tasted of it
the most delicious fruit, which also grows
in our own soil and which is nourished
by our laughter and our tears
it is as bold as the lion and as rich as
the gold mines of South Africa
it is all of this and more
it is the sweet smell of our mammy's bosom
and the richness of our papa's sweet body (after
a hard day of labour)
that have legs made of iron and covered in bronze
and knees made of candy cane and arms
so big and strong, they can cut down any tree
it is our grandmother's laughter, full of years
of wisdom, which makes one both merry
and sad at the same time, even mad, mad as hell
it is the sweat, blood and tears of our people
mothers and fathers, whose backs are bent low
from heavy labour, but not broken
it is the laughter of our babies
on our backs, though their bellies
be only half full
see Africa crying for her children lord
it is the swing of our hips and the
rhythm of our walk
it is the voluptuousness, of our figure and
our rambunctious nature (we are a reckless
people, so stand back)
it is our mindfulness of our past, filled with
glorious achievements and our knowledge
of the future, filled with wonderful, yet undefined
things, most awe inspiring
it is the present, not conforming, yet confirming
you have had to be there, to understand
what black love is, for black love
is the people themselves
Copyright: 1999, revised 2011, by Valerie Tsigi Guillaume
Fearless, passionate, original
and quite frankly awesome
intellectual, intimidating and
oh yes! captivating
it is fearless as an eagle seeking its prey
it is gold dipped in chocolate, or
chocolate covered in gold, so I am told
fresh and new, like a bowl of cherries
though it is passed down through many generations
it is still sweet and delicious, like the pomegranate
only more delicious
as tempting as the strongest wine
that goes down smoothly, and which
leaves stains upon one's lips, after
they have drunk, or tasted of it
the most delicious fruit, which also grows
in our own soil and which is nourished
by our laughter and our tears
it is as bold as the lion and as rich as
the gold mines of South Africa
it is all of this and more
it is the sweet smell of our mammy's bosom
and the richness of our papa's sweet body (after
a hard day of labour)
that have legs made of iron and covered in bronze
and knees made of candy cane and arms
so big and strong, they can cut down any tree
it is our grandmother's laughter, full of years
of wisdom, which makes one both merry
and sad at the same time, even mad, mad as hell
it is the sweat, blood and tears of our people
mothers and fathers, whose backs are bent low
from heavy labour, but not broken
it is the laughter of our babies
on our backs, though their bellies
be only half full
see Africa crying for her children lord
it is the swing of our hips and the
rhythm of our walk
it is the voluptuousness, of our figure and
our rambunctious nature (we are a reckless
people, so stand back)
it is our mindfulness of our past, filled with
glorious achievements and our knowledge
of the future, filled with wonderful, yet undefined
things, most awe inspiring
it is the present, not conforming, yet confirming
you have had to be there, to understand
what black love is, for black love
is the people themselves
Copyright: 1999, revised 2011, by Valerie Tsigi Guillaume
