Featured image: Caique Nascimento
Poetry and Prose for Black History
From the rich, dark, moist fertile soil of the Motherland….
From the villages, where polyrhythmic beats and pulsating sounds of hand carved drums are telling the stories of how you and I came to be!
From the motion, heart sensed movement, swaying and dancing of our dark beautiful chocolate bodies, and the taste of salty beads of sweat, we became one with the beat in a dance of freedom and innate oneness with spirit.
From the bottom of the ocean floor, so mighty and deep, which now has become the final resting place for our sisters and brothers who were taken from their homes, packed like sardines in a can, smelling like the stench they laid in, from their urine and feces. They made their transition during the Middle passages, but their pain, moans and still echo with each wave that kisses the shore for justice to be done.
From the fields of the white man ‘s lofty plantation, where the sun beat us with its scorching rays upon our heads making drops of sweat fall from our brow and creating stench and anger in the trenches of our wounded souls.
Hush, hush, my child and listen, we are calling your Name….
From the rocks, solid red ground, and hard-planked splintered floors, which became the places where the master raped our bodies to satisfy their carnal desires trying to steal the sacredness we were born with in our souls. Lordy, Lordy, Thank God Almighty, we did let them.
From the slave blocks all naked and chained, where we were put on display and prodded like cattle , then sold like a piece of meat to the highest bidder…
From the shotgun shacks of the Mississippi , where we sharecropped , never to own the land , putting our sweat, blood, and tears into it year after year just to be able to eat. We accepted crumbs from the white man’s table. Wait a minute, listen up… For if the land could talk it would tell the truth about how we labored day after day and kept down by Jim Crow laws.
From being called coons, darkies, mammy, Sambo, BOY! These are words that dehumanized, separated, and stereotyped us as less than, and put us at the lowest level of existence in the fundamental order of being human.
Hush, My Child and Listen, We are calling your name…
From the hanging trees where you could only see the soles of bare feet while we were strung up until we no longer were in the land of the living. Then we were left to be the dinner of buzzards, as means for keeping others under control.
From the one room schoolhouse with no heat, no running water and a bowl of beans, a hoe cake or fatback biscuit to ease the pain of hunger in our bellies.
From the sounds of mother and fathers crying, mourning, trying to understand if this was a divine plan. Church bombings, fires explosions sending young black souls into an early grave.
From the dignified and lofty halls of the Mighty and powerful, what some call the hall of Justice… Hum mm, Justice for some and not for others…
HUSH! My Beloved Brothers & Sisters, HUSH!
You heard our call; you heard our sorrowful cries and years of constant pleas from the bones at the bottom of the sea. For you have come to help set our children and us free, by teaching them, inspiring them to hold their heads high, be proud, black, and bold and don’t let nothing hold them back…
Dear Beloved Daughter of the Divine, you answered our call by holding on to your faith and listening to a higher call. You never gave up even though some whispers behind your back and even face to face said” Hey Girl You need to Quit”. Job well done by our faithful Black Daughter.
We were there watching over you, We were there protecting you from all hurt, harm and danger, we were there guiding you…We sent Angels both day and night, never letting you out of our sight… For you were chosen before the beginning of time to keep this appointment with your destiny… For you Marilyn, will lead many; teach many to remember the price that we paid for where they all are today… Ashe Ashe…
The SoulfulPoet, Dr. Yemaja Jubilee