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My Lord, what a morning!
Wake up children!
Let us be not dismayed—Let
not our souls be defiled—hanging
down like branches of willow trees.
Wake up children!
Hear the hollering thunder
of the ancestors—echoing;
dance to the staccato rhythmic
rumbling of the trumpeting
of sable poetic spirits here below.
Indeed we are of two worlds—
Indigenous and kidnapped; yet
we need and must not be schizophrenic
in our oneness of purpose: liberation.
Let us place our terra-cotta burdens
on the altar of the healing Sun
that their memories remain
as baked manna energizing our being.
The new day has already dawned;
falling stars streak slowly out—Leaving
black holes of nothingness—cosmic death
devouring our Earth bound sable starlets.
My Lord what a morning!
Wake up children!
Cease your weeping and wailing.
Dress yourselves in clothes of faith.
Put on and tie your shoes of determination.
There’s a great camp meeting in the making
and you better be ready—the train is a’coming!
P.S. “You don’t need no ticket; you jus git on board…”
