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Lowering my boat into running waters
I paddled out to sea. Midway the horizon
I anchored—A fisherman of memory.
I once more baited my mind’s fishing line
with pages of ancestral truths: then
waited the reeling in of ghost voices of mine.
At sunset—mental basket full,
I oared back to shore with my catch
and built a fire and gathered
the children to savor the pull
and share the day’s hefty batch…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
excited orbs reflected the desires
of the fire of knowledge
as we sat and sang songs
praising ancestral fishermen’s plight
of great African empires…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
we sat and sang songs
praising those ancestral fishermen
of the transatlantic journey’s wrongs…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
we sat and sang songs through the night,
praising those ancestral fishermen
on the wrinkle waters of injustice’s sin…
Tomorrow I shall again launch out in my boat;
paddle out into the sea of running waters:
baiting my mind’s fishing line with wiggling hope afloat,
my soul’s spirit strengthened by those of my forefathers.
