THE SANKOFA
Poetic Verses from Rosetta Stone
Hunted like the wild, caged like the freed
Shackled, starved, their laughter turns to mourning
Their voices to dirge; their dance sound no more
A lost to nature’s theatre land
Thousands harnessed, sardine stocked
Left to disease, to rot; the weak died
Left to reek in holes; no graves
Their stench seeped as ships rocked
And sailed for foreign lands
Stilled by fear and flight of fright Challenged by will of strength
No where to go, to run
The sea beneath, their bodies to receive
The sky above, their spirit’s rest
Blue call to blue, the soul’s show of spirit
Unboxed, the brave, the bold, the strong
They fired as human cannon-balls
From the platforms
Their stage, high-lighted showcase
Their uncivilized sporting arena
Dragged from the warmth of eternal days
From lands of diamond mines and mineral oasis
To labour hard in cemented houses
Or open fields, imprisoned walls
Tossed into the heat, snow or blighted hail
Furrowed backs, baked coal
Life mapped a spaghetti junction
Bolstered old scars, laceration new wounds
Work! Work! Work! Massa striked
No matter what the condition of health
Broken bones, shot-through foot
Cauterise big toe, bodies’ gangrenous food-hall
The reward to venture beyond the yard
Fever, roasting hot, scorching, soaring high
Kings, Princes stripped of dignity
Royal mothers, honoured queens bowed with shame
To the loss rights of their warriors and protectors
Their covering, their security
Their architects, prophets, priest and providers
Eyes bathe in tears; helpless participants
Forced to become peeping-toms
To their babes chastity deflowering
Nobility of birth polluted
Severed bond, grieving, weeping mothers
Mourning, tear-struck fathers
Sorrowing, nameless children
Seek in hope to find the
Roots to their ancestral land
And so today as if yesterday
We have never stopped knowing
Feeling, sharing the pain
The hurt carries over the centuries
We are free outside but within
The spirits of the ancestors’ stories lives on
From them we drew our strength
Theirs - and our tears mingle
And the wrenching pain says
This must never happen again
Hard, softly or loud, we are the power
To stand against the force
HARD, our words spoken gently
Is the symbol of our FREEDOM
SOFTLY like streams we broke forth
With no FLAGS of retreat
LOUD like a roll of thunder - We STRIKE
